Stray Cat, Pierced
by LynstHolin
Summary: DRARRY Two years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the after-effects of Voldemort's reign of terror have caused changes in everyone Harry knows. No one has changed more than Draco Malfoy, with his new gothic look, new name, and desire to live as a Muggle. Rewritten and reworked as of 9/9/12. Includes one-shot sequels.
1. Chapter 1

Links to art (fan created and commissioned) on my LiveJournal, which is also under lynstholin (entry is tagged 'stray cat pierced'). All that and more can be also found on Tumbr, also under the 'stray cat pierced' tag.

Warning: Brief scene of homophobic violence  
>...<p>

MAY 2, 2000

It was the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, and the Ministry was closing early. Harry was going to the Burrow, just as he'd done the year before. All the Weasleys would be there, and Hermione, too, who was practically a Weasley. Everyone said it was for Molly's sake that they gathered, that she needed her entire family around her to cope with the anniversary of her son's death. But in all truth, everyone needed it. The Battle of Hogwarts had left scars on them all.

Harry was just killing time finishing up paperwork in his office when his clock struck noon. He got up, shut the office door, and stripped off his uniform. He was down to his blue and white checked boxers when the door opened. "Ginny-" he turned. Instead of his ex-girlfriend, he found himself staring at Lucius Malfoy. "Erm, this isn't a good time. Could you maybe send an owl or something?" He wasn't sure there was ever a good time to see the man.

Lucius waved one well-manicured hand dismissively. "This won't take long."

Stepping into his jeans, Harry noticed a couple of young, giggling clerks peeking in. There would be some interesting gossip later. "So, ah, what can I help you with? Please let it be something I can do with clothes on."

"I was wondering if you'd seen my son."

"Is there any reason why I should have? Do I need to arrest him for something?" He pulled on a striped shirt and buttoned it up.

"I'm asking you as a former classmate, not as an Auror. Draco has been a bit rebellious lately. His mother and I haven't heard from him for a month. Draco's here in London, I do believe, so perhaps you've seen him."

"It's a big place." Sitting down to put his shoes and socks on, Harry felt a bit at a disadvantage with the senior Malfoy towering over him.

"Yes, well, could you keep an eye out? Narcissa is getting quite worried."

"Mm, sure. Because we were such great friends, your son and I."

"What's he doing here?" Ginny had just walked into the office, and she did not look pleased by Harry's visitor.

"He's just leaving."

Lucius turned to look at the petite redhead, who glared up at him so intensely that her eyes seemed to glow copper. He gave a polite nod. "Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley. I will be going." Taking a step toward the door, he found his way blocked by Ginny. "Still angry about that diary, are we?" he drawled. Lucius yelped loudly as Ginny's pointy-toed red shoe connected with his right shin. Harry slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a snicker. Gathering his dignity as best he could, Lucius slanted a cold look at Ginny and strode out with his black robes swishing.

"That was fun." Grinning, Ginny flopped down into a chair. She was wearing a summer dress that was patterned with cherries, and her hair was in two braids. The former tomboy worked very hard at being girlishly sexy these days. Harry tried not to think too hard about the reasons for that.

"You are aware that your frock covers your knees, right?"

"Today, of all days, I really do not want to get into a row with Mom about how I'm dressed like a scarlet woman. So what did tall, pale, and creepy want?"

"Eh. Malfoy's run away from home, and his mummy wants her widdle snuggly-wugglims back."

"Good for him. It's about time he got away from that freak show family of his."

A bushy-haired head poked through the door. "Ready to go?" Hermione had a large pot of African violets in her arms, a gift for Molly.

"Sure. Let's Floo." Ginny got up and took her pink cardigan from Harry's coatrack.

"Aren't you worried that arriving together might make you mom think that you and Harry are..." Hermione couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

Ginny and Harry exchanged glances. "I think she's finally accepted that I won't be her son-in-law," said Harry.

"And I explained to her that, if she considers him to be her seventh son, me being in a relationship with him would be incest."

They moved out into the hall, and Harry locked his office door. "Molly didn't actually think that was very funny at all."

"Imagine that," Hermione said.

MAY 17, 2000

Harry was at the usual cafe he went to for his lunch break. He preferred Muggle places like this, where no one acted like he was anything special. Today, some of the other patrons were looking at a couple that was kissing at one of the small tables. Harry wasn't sure if it was because they were both men, or because one was middle-aged and one was still in his teens. Or because one was a respectable-looking businessman, and the other was a certain sort of Muggle that his aunt and uncle hated almost as much as witches and wizards.

Sporting shoulder length hair that was dyed black and scarlet, he wore contact lenses that made his eyes look like those of a goat. There was a stud in his chin and rings all up and down his ears. His tee-shirt had a picture of an angel being tortured on the front, and said 'Dimmu Borgir,' which Harry assumed was a band. Vernon Dursley would die of apoplexy if he ever caught sight of this creature.

Looking away from the entwined pair, uncomfortable for a reason he couldn't name, Harry concentrated on his ham sandwich. He was startled when the younger half of the couple sat in the chair across the table from him. "Hello, Potter."

Harry stared. The boy smirked at him, twirling a lock of dyed hair between his fingers; his nails had chipped black polish on them. The narrow, high-bridged nose, the pointed chin, the almond-shaped eyes with smeared black liner around them... "Malfoy?"

The boy smiled, exposing pointed canines. "You remember me?" The tattoos on his arms were thorned vines that looked like they were erupting through his skin, complete with trompe l'oeil blood droplets and flesh shreds. They completely obscured his Dark Mark.

"How could I possibly forget?" Harry nodded toward the table where the middle-aged businessman sat, looking less than pleased at being left alone. "Dealing with your daddy issues?"

"Robert takes care of me," Malfoy said airily. His wash-worn shirt gapped at the neck, showing how much his clavicles stuck out. There was a fragility to the blond boy. Harry was sure he could circle one of Malfoy's forearms with his thumb and index finger.

"Your father popped into my office the other day."

"That must have given you quite a turn." When he spoke, a tongue piercing glinted inside Malfoy's mouth.

"Your mother is worried about you, apparently."

Malfoy grimaced. "They're trying to marry me off. To a woman."

"Um, do they know that you're..."

"Queer? Of course. But Father says it's like breeding dogs. The sire doesn't have to love the bitch to make a litter."

Harry winced. It reminded him a bit too much of something nasty Vernon Dursley's sister had once said to him. "That's so romantic. Does he know that you're a Muggle now?"

Malfoy was watching his older lover, who was getting up from his table. "He knows I've left the wizarding world."

"Seriously?"

"I threw my wand in the Thames."

"Really?" Harry was incredulous. Malfoy had been very lucky to get his wand back after the Battle of Hogwarts, and to just throw it away...

"Come on, Draven, let's go home," Robert called. He was handsome in a slightly-too-well-groomed way, with a Van Dyke beard and a perfectly trimmed mustache.

"Draven? You changed your name... to Draven?" Harry asked. Malfoy pulled a phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. There was just way too much going on for Harry to process. "And you have a mobile?"

"What's your number, Potter?"

Watching Malfoy enter the number into the phone's contacts list like a pro, Harry said, "You really are a Muggle now, aren't you." It was a statement, not a question. When Malfoy rebelled, he _really _rebelled.

"I am."

"So why do you want the phone number of a very famous wizard, then?"

Malfoy just smiled.

"Come on!" Robert took Malfoy by the arm and pulled him away, giving Harry a cold look.

"He's just someone I went to school with," Malfoy was protesting as Robert pulled him out of the cafe.

Watching through the front window, Harry saw Robert give the boy a hard shake. He shot up from his chair, cursing. A group of lost tourists blocked the window, and by the time they'd folded up their maps and moved on, Malfoy was nowhere in sight.

MAY 27, 2000

Kreacher was displeased by the new addition to 12 Grimmauld Place. "It moves too much," he whined, flinching every time Harry changed the channel.

"But look." Harry turned the television to a cooking channel. "You can learn new recipes. You like that."

"Telly-phones. Telly-bissons. Complooters. Muggle things." Kreacher stalked off toward the kitchen. The television had been there two and a half weeks, and the house elf still acted like its presence was a personal affront. Harry turned to a sports channel, wondering idly why wizards didn't have some sort of way to broadcast Quidditch games visually. One could hear them being announced on the WWN, but it wasn't the same as actually seeing the action.

A couple of months ago, it had finally sunk in that no one out there wanted to kill him any more, and so Harry had undone all the magic that kept his home hidden. He'd sawed big holes in the walls to remove Walburga Black's portrait and the mounted elf heads, all of which now resided in Kreacher's room. He cast a complicated charm once a week to keep Muggles believing that they'd always known the house was there. It was all worth it to be able to get telephone service, a satellite dish, an internet connection, and delivery of a new couch that didn't smell like Nasty Old Lady.

Flipping through a few more channels, Harry came across an old episode of "Dr. Who." He'd loved the show when he was a kid, but, since Dudley had hated it, Harry had hardly ever gotten to watch it. Laying down on the couch and hugging a fuzzy throw pillow, Harry settled in for an episode of "Dr. Who and the Seeds of Doom." Just as the krynoid ate its first human, the phone rang. "Yeah?"

"It's me, Drac-Draven."

Harry hadn't actually expected him to call. He'd sent an owl to Malfoy manor with a note saying that Malfoy seemed to be doing well enough, and had thought that would be the end of it. "Oh."

"I'm out all by myself. Robert's on a business trip to Slough. Want to join me for a drink?"

Harry looked at the television, where the green krynoid waved its green tentacles menacingly. Well, "Dr. Who" would be on again. Who knew if Harry would ever have a chance to satisfy his curiosity about Malfoy again. Why on earth was he acting friendly? Maybe it was a body snatcher type situation. A pod came down from outer space and...

"Potter, you there?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." Harry decided he needed to cut down on the sci-fi; it was taking over his brain. "Where at?"

...

It was a pub Harry'd never heard of, but Soho was not one of his usual haunts. The hair on his neck prickled when several men in the bar swivelled around to look at him when he entered. It seemed threatening until he realized that their stares weren't macho posturing. They were ogling him. Feeling a bit awkward at the attention, Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Where'd you get the scar, luv?" called a thirtyish man in a navy blue suit.

"Hunting accident." Harry scanned the room. It wasn't at all like the image he had in his mind of a gay hang-out. No bare-chested bartender, no disco music blaring, no men gyrating on the dance-floor in fishnet shirts and and hot pants; no dance-floor, even. Just an oak-lined, dim pub with jazz playing over the audio system . The men in it looked prosperous. His uncle Vernon would probably consider them to be the proper sort, people to be sucked up to. He would have no idea that they were what he called 'sicko inverts'.

The odd one out was Malfoy. He was sitting at the bar. This time, his shirt was for a band called Cradle of Filth, and it said something very uncomplimentary about Jesus on the back. And on the front was a nun who was... interfering with herself. "It's legal to wear that in public?" Harry asked as he climbed onto a vacant stool.

"I've had some people get a bit upset with me." Malfoy looked much the same as he had the last time Harry had seen him. Today, he didn't have his contacts in, which Harry much preferred. The goat eyes creeped him out. Harry was as yet undecided about Malfoy's new facial piercing, a barbell atop the bridge of his nose.

"This really doesn't seem the like kind of place that someone who looks like you would go to."

"It's one of Robert's favorites."

"Is it clever to be out with another man at one of your boyfriend's favorite pubs? He seems a bit jealous. I saw him shake you."

Shrugging and spreading his hands, Malfoy said, "So he's possessive. He loves me. A lot." Harry got the impression that the blond boy had already had a bit to drink before Harry got there; his gestures seemed just a little too exaggerated.

The bartender (who, though not shirtless, was freakishly good-looking) set two shots of whiskey down. "Put his on Robert's tab, too?" Malfoy nodded and knocked his shot back.

"I can pay for my own drinks, Malfoy."

"Robert is rich. Drink." Malfoy held Harry's shotglass up to his lips and tipped it. About half landed in his mouth. Harry swallowed and coughed, wiping at the spilled liquor on his shirt.

The bartender set down two more shots. Harry grabbed his and tossed it down before Malfoy could half-drown him again, and there was another shot in front of him. "Are you trying to get me drunk so you can do something terrible to me? Maybe strip me naked and tie me to a fire hydrant with a dog-leash?"

Malfoy smiled wickedly . "If I tied you up naked, it would be to a four-poster bed. You wouldn't find it terrible at all." He put a hand on Harry's knee.

Having had just taken a sip, Harry choked on his whiskey. Eyes watering, he asked, "Do you actually fancy me, or are you just playing?"

"I've wanted you for a long time. You've got a great arse, you know. Only one at Hogwarts who had a better one was Diggory." Another round of shots arrived. Malfoy's eyes were slightly unfocused; the whiskey was hitting him hard. His hand made gentle circles on Harry's thigh. "And I was always impressed by how fearless you are. Utterly jealous, but impressed. I never was brave like that. I could intimidate people with my family, and with Crabbe and Goyle, but I was really... That day the Dementors were on the Hogwarts Express? I messed my pants a little."

"So you mocked me to make yourself feel better about it?"

"Maybe."

"God, you were such a git."

Malfoy laughed. "I really was, wasn't I? There was one time I tried to be as brave as you. It didn't turn out well."

"Buckbeak, right?"

"Yeh." Malfoy swayed a little on his stool, his hand slipping from Harry's leg. "I think I've had enough shots."

"Since you brought it up, let me ask you something. I grew all the bones in my arm back in one night, but you had your arm in a sling for months. What was that about?"

"I was able to get Pansy to do most of my homework. Poor cow. She'd have wanked me off every day if I'd asked her to. But I didn't need her to, since I had Goyle."

"You... and Goyle?" Harry grimaced. "Disgusting."

"The ugly ones are usually better lovers. They have to try harder."

"I really don't want to hear any more."

"He does this thing with his-"

Slapping a hand over Malfoy's mouth, Harry said, "One more word, and I'll hex you. I've learned some really creative ones from Ginny. I could turn your eyes to buttons, or make treacle ooze out of your scalp." Malfoy's tongue flicked against Harry's palm suggestively. "You're quite the tart when you're drunk." He pulled his hand away.

"You and the ginger runt still a couple?"

"No. Just friends. She spends most of her time clubbing and collecting men. She specializes in Americans. She even speaks like one most of the time." Harry rubbed the spot on his hand that Malfoy had licked. It felt oddly tingly. "Her mother is beside herself. Molly's very old fashioned. She thinks Ginny is a fallen woman."

"I can't believe you'd let her go, the way she worshipped you. She thought the sun shone out your arse."

"Sort of like how Parkinson felt about you?"

Another shot had appeared in Malfoy's hand. He raised it to Harry. "Touche. But really, why did you split up?"

"Mmm. There was just something lacking when we tried to... I mean, she was all ready to go, and I just couldn't..." Harry threw back another shot himself. He couldn't believe he was talking about this with Malfoy Malfoy, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. It was the bloody whiskey.

"Maybe you're gay, too."

"I saw this talk show where they talk about people who are asexual. They're not into men, women, animals, umbrellas, anything. I think that's what I am."

"Hmm. What do you think about when you're wanking?"

"I've never done that."

Malfoy spun on his stool and grasped Harry by the chin, squinting hard at him. "You must be lying. Say it again."

"I've never had a wank."

"You're not lying. Unbelievable. Here. Let's try something." Malfoy leaned in and put his mouth on Harry's.

The kiss was much more skilled than the ones Harry had experienced with Cho and Ginny. Malfoy sucked and nibbled at Harry's lower lip. The feeling of Malfoy's studded tongue sliding into his mouth... he could almost feel something. Uncle Vernon's face flashed into his mind, turning purple the way he did when he was ranting particularly hard. _"Perverts, all of them. They shouldn't be allowed anywhere near children. A man who who would do that with another man is probably a pedo, too." _His voice was loud and clear inside Harry's head.

Malfoy pulled back. "Nothing?"

"No. Sorry." Harry felt sickened by his uncle's far-too-vivid appearance in his mind.

"You must be.. whatever you said you were . I got Robert to buy me a Vespa the first time I kissed him like that."

Trying unsuccessfully hold back tipsy giggles, Harry said, "Draco Malfoy rides a Vespa. Malfoy effing Malfoy on a Vespa."

"Draven. I have to get around somehow. Robert says I can't be trusted with a car."

"You could apparate if you hadn't thrown your wand in the river. Why don't you want to be a wizard any more?"

Malfoy rested the point of his chin on one hand and stared off into a dark corner of the pub. "You're an Auror. You know there's people who want to take the D-dark Lord's place, right?"

"All too well."

"They all want a Malfoy on their side. I'm not- I'm not- I won't." Malfoy was blinking fast. "I don't want to talk about it. Change the subject." His phone chirped and he flipped it open. Harry could hear Robert demanding to know where Malfoy was and what he was doing. "I've got to go, he's home early," Malfoy whispered to Harry. He walked out of the pub insisting to Robert that he was nowhere, doing nothing with no-one.

MAY 29, 2000

Harry was standing in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, contemplating the memorial that had replaced the horrible Magic is Might monument. It was a fountain, but of light, not water. Ephemeral ribbons of gold and silver braided, twisted, and spun hypnotically. Sometimes, a name appeared. Just the other day, Harry had seen' Dobby' floating right in front of his face in letters of soft green. He'd shut himself up in his office for an hour, crying. "Hey, Harry." He hadn't noticed that Ginny was standing next to him. She bumped him with one hip.

"Hey, yourself. As often as you're here, you might was well join the secretarial pool."

Ginny was getting a lot of interested looks from male Ministry employees passing by, due to the short pleated skirt she was wearing. "I had lunch with Dad. He told me a really funny story about a pair of biting trousers. Where were you Saturday? I was going to invite you to watch me try out for the Harpies."

Harry stopped gazing at the fountain and grinned hugely at Ginny. "You did it? That's great!"

Ginny blushed a little. "What you really mean is that it's about time I did something with my life besides make my mother's hair turn grey. But really, where were you? You never go out."

"I was with Malfoy, can you believe it?"

"On a date?"

Harry looked back at the fountain. "Why would you think that?"

"Because, duh, he's gay."

"You knew?"

"Everyone knows."

"I didn't know until a couple weeks ago."

"Come on, Harry, everyone at Hogwarts knew, especially after the Moaning Myrtle incident."

"The... what?"

Ginny gave him an incredulous look. "How on earth can you be an Auror if you're that unobservant?"

"But Parkinson-"

"Girl hopelessly in love with gay man. Oldest story in the book. Like McGonagall and Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore?"

"You didn't know Dumbledore was gay? Harry! Are you serious?"

"So... you knew Goyle was gay, too?"

"Of course. The Moaning Myrtle incident."

"What was the Moaning-"

"I suppose you didn't know Demelza Robins and Millicent Bulstrode were a couple in school, either." Ginny was giving him a look of mingled amusement and condescension.

"Er, no."

"_Honestly_, Harry."

"But... but no one made fun of any of them for being gay. And there were people who wanted Dumbledore gone from Hogwarts, but it wasn't because he liked men."

"It's just more accepted in the wizarding world. Dad says it's one of the differences between wizards and Muggles. But most gay wizards keep a low profile these days because of those Not Enough Wizard Babies idiots."

"The nutters that protest outside of shops that sell contraceptive potions?"

"Yeah. A couple of guys I've dated here at the Ministry have told me what else they're up to. The last twenty years or so, they've been kidnapping wizards and trying 'de-gaying' spells on them. It hasn't worked right ever, and there's always some nasty side effect. St. Mungo's can usually fix them, but there's one poor witch who still thinks she's a chimpanzee. It's sort of cute, I hear, unless she gets mad and starts throwing... ugh. They would never touch Malfoy, though. Too afraid of his family. Which brings us back around to, was it a date?"

"You sound like you want it to have been."

Ginny looked Harry steadily in the eyes even as she teared up. "I do. Because if you're gay, then that means that what... didn't happen between us... it's not because I'm... unwantable."

"But all those men you-"

"You're the only one that ever mattered, Harry." Her voice was thick.

"Oh, Ginny." He almost reached out to touch her, but he realized it would be a mistake. "For the record, there was kissing. With tongue. He's got a stud in his."

Ginny opened her eyes wide and fanned them with her hand to dry them without smudging her mascara and liner. "Sounds like a date to me." They stood a while without talking, watching the ribbons of light twirl and ripple. Colin Creevey's name floated toward them, the letters violet smoke. Ginny sighed."I've got to go."

"All right. Let me know what the Harpies say, yeah?"

"Of course." She tip-tapped away on her high-heeled sandals.

"Hey, Ginny. Demelza Robins and Millicent Bulstrode. Are they still together?"

Ginny stopped and turned, smiling. "I hear they have a cozy little wizards-only inn in Dorset. So a Gryffindor and a Slytherin _can_ live happily ever after together. It's been done."

...

Regulus Black's old bedroom was now filled with an exercise bench, a chin-up bar, and free weights. Wearing only shorts and trainers, Harry was gleaming with sweat as he finished up the two hundred crunches he did daily. Keeping in shape was important for an Auror. Very few dark wizards would just give up when deprived of their wands. Harry wanted the endurance to chase them down and the strength to subdue them.

He stood up, took a swig of water, and looked at himself in the mirror, checking his progress at honing his body. There were few traces left of the underfed, knobbly-kneed runt that was regularly terrorized by Dudley and his gang. Harry was as tall as his father had been, and broad-shouldered. If he took his shirt off while having a run, the sight of his chiselled abs and pecs were capable of distracting women into walking into trees and street signs.

"H-harry." Kreacher was peering in. The informal manner of address that Harry insisted upon did not roll easily off the elderly house elf's tongue. "There is someone at the door."

Harry pulled on a shirt as he trotted down the stairs. Opening the front door, he found Malfoy on the step, an over-stuffed duffle bag at his feet. "I need a place to stay, just for tonight. Please." Malfoy stared down at his feet, his hair in his face.

"Sure." Harry stepped back out of the way. Malfoy started dragging the duffle bag in; it was obviously too heavy for him to carry. "Here." Harry hefted the bag onto his shoulder. "There's a spare bed upstairs."

Malfoy followed Harry up the stairs. "I'm sorry I didn't call first. Robert took my mobile away. We had a fight. He kicked me out, but he'll want me back tomorrow. That's how it always goes."

"Where'd you park your Vespa?"

"Robert took that back, too."

Harry dropped the duffle bag in Walburga's old room. He turned to look at Malfoy, who, though he was as tall as Harry, looked like a stiff breeze could carry him away. He noticed that Malfoy was holding his head at an odd angle. He brushed a lock of red and black hair away from Malfoy's cheek, revealing a blue mark. "He hit you?" Outrage made Harry's heartbeat accelerate.

Flinching away from Harry's hand, Malfoy said, "It's my own fault. I should have known someone would tell him that I kissed you."

"That doesn't justify him putting his hands on you! He's got to be twice as strong as you."

Malfoy gave Harry a pleading look. "Just drop it. Please."

"You can't go back to him."

"This was a mistake." Malfoy grabbed the strap of his bag and started dragging it toward the bedroom door. "I'm sorry. I'll go."

Harry reached out a hand to grab Malfoy, then thought better of it; the boy had been man-handled enough for one day. "Oh, for-I won't say any more, all right?"

Malfoy stopped. His shoulders slumped. "Thanks. I'll probably be gone before you're back from work tomorrow."

"You can stay as long as you like." There was a part of Harry that was surprised that he was being so generous to him former enemy. But Malfoy just seemed so lost and vulnerable. Harry could no more turn him out than he could ignore an abandoned puppy.

"Master Draco will be needing Kreacher?" The house elf was there, gazing at Malfoy adoringly. Some things never changed.

"He'll be sleeping in this room. Get him some fresh sheets, will you?" Everything on Walburga's bed flew up in a tornado of fabric. The pillows popped out of their cases. Fresh linens zoomed into the room, nearly hitting Harry. The linens set themselves in place with a snap, corners folding perfectly. The pillows, covered again, floomped down. A large, fluffy object squeezed through the door and crept to the bed. "A duvet? I never get a duvet."

Malfoy smiled for the first time. "Your house elf loves me better than you."

"Yeah, well, he still spied on you in sixth year when I ordered him to."

Malfoy's smile disappeared. "I don't want to talk about sixth year."

There seemed to be a long list of things that Malfoy didn't want to discuss. "Sorry. That wasn't very funny, was it."

"No, I'm sorry, it's just that there are things..." Malfoy knelt down to unzip his duffle, tipping it over to disgorge a pile of black clothing, CDs, books, and other odds and ends. It wasn't quite Hermione's beaded bag, but the duffle seemed to hold far more that it should have been able to. Malfoy located a toothbrush . "I'm going to go to bed now. I'm not going to be very good company tonight. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing."

"Oh, sorry," said Malfoy. Harry started laughing, and Malfoy stuck his tongue out at him.

"Good night, Mal- Draven."

"Good night, Potter."

MAY 30, 2000

Harry padded down in his bare feet and pajama bottoms, rubbing the sleep-bogeys out of his eyes. There was loud music coming from the bottom of the stairs, and he could hear Kreacher's froggy voice over it. When he entered the kitchen, the first thing Harry saw was Malfoy's rear end pointing at him as the blond boy rummaged around in a lower cupboard. His tiny bottom was covered only by a pair of Hello Kitty boyshorts that left quite a bit of undercheek bare. Kreacher was so distraught that he was pulling out his ear-hair. "Ha-ha-harry, please tell Master Draco that a Malfoy must not degrade himself by doing house elf work!"

"It doesn't seem to bother you when _I_ cook." Kreacher let out a groan of horror as Malfoy began to crack eggs into a pan. "I think Walburga's lonely. Why don't you go talk to her, Kreacher." The house elf doddered off to his room. "The only way I can get him to calm down when he's in that state is to make him talk to Sirius' mother's portrait," Harry said to Malfoy. "Oh, and nice knickers. Ginny has the same pair."

"Why would you know about her knickers if you're broken up?" When Malfoy turned toward Harry, it was very apparent that his pink and white pants were not made to accommodate the male body.

"Blimey! You're going to pop right out of those and into the eggs. Um, as short as Ginny's skirts are these days, everyone knows what her knickers look like. Did it hurt to get your nipples pierced?" Harry made a move toward the bread box.

Malfoy pointed a spatula at him. "Sit down! I'm making breakfast for you."

"All right."

"And of course it hurt."

"Did you cry?"

"A little."

Harry's boombox, which was illegally altered to run by magic, was on the table playing a song about a girl who couldn't let go and couldn't turn her heart to stone. The CD cover had a picture of of a sexy man in low-slung leather trousers, the letters HIM over his bare chest. Harry turned the volume down a little, then idly flipped the CD case open and closed while he watched Malfoy make toast and and turn the eggs. Malfoy was mostly just bone and sinew, but what little there was of him was wonderfully put together. Harry couldn't stop looking at his concave stomach, the smooth white thighs, the twin grooves along his hips...

_Queer. Unnatural. Disgusting_. Uncle Vernon had popped into Harry's head again. Harry pinched his thigh hard, using the pain to drive his uncle's words and image away. It wasn't wrong for a man to admire another man's beauty, Harry told himself. Being asexual, it was just like looking at a painting or a sculpture. Purely aesthetic appreciation. The perfect arches of his bare feet, the way the candlelight in the kitchen made the trail of hair below his navel glow, the dimples above his bottom...

Harry got the feeling that Malfoy was enjoying being watched. This hunch was confirmed when Malfoy brought the eggs to the table. The proof was threatening to rend his Hello Kittie undies asunder. "Merlin's holey socks! In the kitchen?"

Malfoy put the two plates down, brushing up against Harry far more than was necessary. "I'm a healthy nineteen-year-old male. It's got a mind of its own." Instead of sitting down, Malfoy just stood there with his loaded weapon pointed at Harry. Harry, feeling strangely over-heated, tried to avert his gaze. "You're adorable when you blush," Malfoy teased. He pulled Harry's seat away from the table and straddled him. He put his hand on Harry's chest and caressed downward. "What's this?" His hand curled and stroked. "Asexual, my arse."

It was as if Harry had been anesthetized below the waist all of his life, and the anesthetic had finally worn off. The sweet, throbbing ache was like nothing Harry had ever felt before. Malfoy rubbed against him, and Harry let out a small moan.

"You don't know how long I've wanted this," Malfoy breathed into Harry's ear.

_Dudley and his gang surrounded a ginger boy of about fourteen. "Arse bandit! Arse bandit!" Dudley and a shaven-headed thug took hold of the boy's arms. Another bully picked up a stick and poked it into the boy's buttocks repeatedly. When the boy cried out, Dudley told him, "Shut up. Your kind likes that." Harry watched it all, hating himself for not daring to try to help the victim._

Harry came back to the present to find Malfoy giving him a very puzzled look. The anesthesia was back. "What was that? You deflated like a balloon." Malfoy leaned back with his arms crossed, pouting.

"I-God. There's something wrong with me." Harry looked into Malfoy's grey eyes, which bore traces of black liner around them. "You're beautiful. You really are. I just-" Harry ran a hand over his face. "I think I'm broken."

"You think I'm beautiful?" Malfoy had an expression on his face that Harry had never seen before: a sweet smile. It made Harry's stomach do a funny little fillip.

"I know you're beautiful. Now, maybe we should eat before everything gets cold." Malfoy got up out of Harry's lap and sat next to him. The eggs were both burnt and slimey, and the toast was barely toasted; how someone who had been so good at potions could be such an atrocious cook was beyond Harry's understanding. But Malfoy was so proud of himself for making breakfast that Harry forced himself to eat it all. "Mal- Draven, can I ask you something?"

"I guess."

"When your father found out that you're gay, was he angry?"

Malfoy giggled around his toast. "Don't tell me you're like all those girls that got damp imagining that my father hung me naked in chains and beat me bloody."

"Well, no, I just thought he'd be unhappy about it because he'd want more pureblood babies."

"You mean like those Not Enough Wizard Babies people? Father hates the NEWBs. They gave Mother and him a lot of grief for having only one child. My being gay doesn't bother him. What bothers him is that I won't trick some poor girl into marrying me. She was a couple of years behind us in school, she's heard all the stories, but Father has her and her family believing that it was just a phase I went through. I think he used some sort of charm on them to get them to swallow that. And she thinks she's in love with me. Marrying her could only be a disaster."

"How did your father find out that you're gay?"

"He took me to Knockboots Alley on my fifteenth birthday. It's a Malfoy thing."

"Knock-what?"

"You've never heard of it?" Harry shook his head. "It's a dead-end off Knockturn Alley. It doesn't actually have an official name, people just call it that because that's where the whores are."

"Wizard whores. There are _wizard whores_."

"You're such an innocent. It's sweet." Malfoy patted Harry on the head. "The whores stand out on the sidewalk in Knockboots Alley. You pick one, and he or she- or someone in between, maybe- takes you to a room. Father was trying to get me interested in a woman with tits the size of my head. But I saw this boy. About the same age as me. He was so perfect. Long auburn hair, copper eyes, face like an angel. I pointed at him and told Father, I want him."

"What did your father say?"

Malfoy tipped his head back and narrowed his eyes. Raising one eyebrow, he drawled, "Oh, I see." His imitation of Lucius was uncannily accurate.

"Please don't ever do that again. It's creepy."

"His name was Valerian. Though I suppose that wasn't his real name. He was amazing. I went back, but he was gone. Some rich Death Eater bought out his contract, made him his exclusive property. I saw Valerian at the Battle of Hogwarts. I saw him die. It was hideous." Malfoy stared down into his plate, which was mostly full. "I'm not really hungry."

That was when Harry's watch beeped, telling him it was time to head off for work. "I'm sorry. I've got dark wizards to catch." Harry didn't feel good about leaving Malfoy alone at this part of the conversation, but he was sure that today was the day he would track down the wizard who was putting Deafmute hexes on Muggle children. On impulse, he put a hand on Malfoy's shoulder before he got up, which earned him the sweet smile again.

"I'll probably be gone when you get back."

"You don't have to be." Kreacher surprised him by apparating in the kitchen with his wand and work clothes. Harry could feel Malfoy watching as he stripped off his pajama bottoms and pulled on his Auror uniform.

"Not bad, Potter."

"So I've heard."

Malfoy looked down at his lap. "I guess I'll have to take care of this myself."

"You're still...?"

"Like granite. I could play cricket with it."

"Kreacher loves you. He'd probably give you a hand with it." A piece of toast hit the back of Harry's head as he stepped into the fireplace with his handful of Floo powder.

LATER ON MAY 30, 2000

By the time Harry returned home, the sun had already set, and he was exhausted but happy. The wizard who had been turning Muggle children deaf and mute had been apprehended. He was an elderly man who lived next to a playground; tired of children making noise during his favorite WWN program, he'd started throwing out hexes indiscriminately. Harry wasn't thrilled with the idea of sending someone that old to Azkaban, but binding a kid's vocal chords and ear-drums for the crime of laughing while riding a teeter-totter was something that couldn't go unpunished. Anyway, without the Dementors there, Azkaban had lost a lot of its horror.

Harry could hear the TV as he stepped out of his fireplace. Onscreen, Shah Rukh Khan mugged and danced and lip-synched to impress a girl resplendent in Hindi bridal finery. The power cord for the TV lay slack and unplugged on the floor. Malfoy was kneeling in front of the electrical outlet trying to unscrew the plate with a penny. "One of the first things Muggle children learn is to not play with outlets," Harry said wryly as he plopped down in his new recliner.

Malfoy sat up. He was wearing a pair of rather silly pajama bottoms that Ginny had given Harry as a Christmas gift. They were printed with Teddy bears sporting bowties and bowler hats. He was also wearing Harry's new Weird Sisters tee shirt. "What's behind here?"

"Just empty space."

"I knew this place couldn't actually be hooked up to the power grid. Who enchanted all your electronics?" Malfoy walked to the couch and flopped down on his stomach.

"'Power grid'. 'Electronics'. You _are_ a Muggle now."

"Robert says I can't come back until I get a job." Malfoy said the last word the way most people would say 'suppurating sore' or 'explosive diarrhea'. "Robert says I have to prove that I'm a responsible adult." He rested his chin on his fists and waved his feet in the air.

"Believe it or not, most people do survive having to work."

"But I don't even know how to get a job."

"Didn't you mostly get Outstanding marks on your OWLs?"

"Those are only good for wizard jobs."

"There are lots of places in Diagon-"

"I won't go there again. Ever."

"Too bad. You'd probably get hired at the Magical Menagerie, given your experience at being a ferret." Malfoy crossed his eyes and made a rude noise. "Well, I've never had a Muggle job, so I don't know much about getting one. Oh, hold on." Harry got up and went to the side table where Kreacher put his mail. He rummaged through the pile until he found a flyer. "Here. 'Youth employment assistance'." He tossed the flyer on Malfoy's back, then sat back down in his chair. "Go see them tomorrow."

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I don't care if you never go back to that bastard. Actually, I think it would be better if you didn't. Why do you want to?"

Malfoy hid his face in his arms. "He loves me. I love him."

"It's not a healthy kind of love."

"Drop it."

"Fine."

There was a long silence.

"Watch a movie with me?" Malfoy asked, peeking over his arms and looking like a little kid who was afraid the answer would be no.

The opening credits were running for another Bollywood extravaganza. "Sure, why not. I'll have Kreacher bring us something to eat. And don't forget to remind me to give you a key."

MAY 31, 2000

Harry was let off work early as a reward for apprehending the child-hating wizard the day before. He got home just as Malfoy, who was clutching a laden plastic bag, let himself in the front door. "They found me a job at a fast food place. I have to take the dye out of my hair and remove my facial piercings." Malfoy looked and sounded sulky.

"Oh. That's too bad. But it's a start, yeah? Lots of Muggles work fast food for their first job."

"I'm going to hate it."

"Well, you could just go back to Malfoy Manor and live off your daddy's money, like everyone assumed you would."

"I'm not ever going back there."

Harry didn't bother asking why. He would be happy to never see the place again, and he knew he'd only seen a tiny fraction of the awfulness that Malfoy had been forced to witness. "Don't Muggle employers want to know if you graduated from school? You can't really put Hogwarts down on an application."

"I told the woman at the employment place that I was raised in a cult that didn't allow us to go to school, or have electricity or any contact with the outside world. That's what I tell Robert, too, when he wonders why I don't know something that's common knowledge for Muggles. It makes people feel sorry for me. Then they want to do things for me." Malfoy sighed as he rummaged around in his shopping bag. "I'm going to hate it."

"Let me ask you something, Draven. Where do you see yourself in ten years?" Malfoy just gave him a puzzled look. "What are you going to be doing? Where will you be living? Who will you be living with?"

Malfoy's mouth went tight. "What about you? What will you be doing in ten years?" he deflected.

"I'll be head of the Auror Office. I'll live here, but I'll completely redecorate. I'll be single, but I'll be a doting uncle to the next generation of Weasleys. So, tell, me where do you see yourself in ten years?"

Looking down at his boot-clad feet, Malfoy said, "I don't see myself at all."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I've got to go bleach my hair now."

JUNE 1, 2000

The next morning, Malfoy was already at the table when Harry came down to the kitchen. "Not. One. Word. Potter." Everything was fine from the neck up. Malfoy's hair, back to its natural flaxen color, was sleekly tied back. His labret and bridge piercings were gone. With the stony look on his face, he looked much as he had in school. Below the neck, he was wearing a uniform of the most horrible shade of brown conceivable. The shirt had a bright yellow stripe going all the way around at nipple level, and a cartoonish insignia of an alarmingly bug-eyed chicken on the front. Next to Malfoy's plate was a matching visor, and a badge that said "Hello, my name is _", with 'Draven' written in the blank in orange marker.

"You didn't cook this morning." Which was good for Harry's digestion.

"Brown. Brown. I look dreadful in brown. It robs me of my will to live. And the uniform is all man-made fibers. There's a touch of _polyester_ in it."

"Was there a pea under your pile of mattresses last night, princess?"

"It's easy for you to laugh. You have a nice-looking uniform. The color compliments your eyes, and it hugs your bottom perfectly. You can't even see my bottom in this." Malfoy pulled at the loose fabric of his trousers.

"You really must love Robert to go through all this unbelievable torture."

"I do. He makes me feel so... I can't even explain." Harry's sarcasm had gone right over Malfoy's head.

"And you feel the same when he hits you?"

"It doesn't happen_ that _much. And it's always my fault. I do something stupid or annoying. He'd do anything for me. My last birthday, he flew us to Rio. Robert says Rio is the sexiest city in the world. He got us the best suite he could find. He even went to the beach at night with me so I wouldn't get sunburned. We swam naked, and drank champagne, and he gave me a massage every night, and he gave me a platinum necklace..."

"Which he took back?"

"Robert says he's keeping it for me because he knows I tend to lose things. Robert says I'm too irresponsible."

Harry made a resolution to never bring Robert up again. The phrase 'Robert says' was starting to grate on his ears. And every conversation about Robert seemed to turn Malfoy into a babbling idiot.

LATER THAT DAY

Home early again, Harry was on the couch watching the Doctor battle the Daleks when the front door slammed open. Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp. Malfoy stood right in front of the TV with a thunderous look on his face. His hair was frazzled, he reeked of stale grease, and he was wearing only boots and a pair of blue scrub pants that were far too short for him.

"Do I even want to ask?"

"First of all, they made me wear a snood!"

"I think that's called a hair net."

"A_ snood_! I looked like my great-grandmother! And how dare they call what they sell food! My father's dogs would turn their noses up at such swill. They told me I was allowed to purchase one meal per work-shift at half-price the way you'd tell a peasant he was allowed to speak to the Queen. Like I should be grateful to pay for being poisoned. The buttons on the register had pictures on them, because they assume their employees are too imbecilic to know how to read. Which, having met some of my co-workers, may just be true. I have never met such bovine specimens of humanity before in my life. And the customers, even worse! Utter wretches. Possibly sub-human. Part troll, I would wager." As he ranted, Malfoy's posture grew straighter, his shoulders drew back, and his eyes narrowed. His raised his chin until he was looking straight down his nose. "What, precisely, is so damned humorous, Potter?" he asked in a frigid tone.

"Your Malfoy is showing. Now that you don't have a wand to hex me with, it's rather adorable."

Malfoy glared icily for a moment. Then he jumped on top of Harry, knocking the breath out of him. "You think I'm adorable?" He smiled down sweetly.

"Have you always had these mood swings?"

"Tell me, tell me, tell me." He bounced his knees into Harry's stomach.

"You're adorable when you're not trying to rupture my intestines. So, what's the story behind the outfit?"

Malfoy laid down on the couch, his head on Harry's lap. "This creature came to the counter. I think it was female. Perhaps some species of goblin. I'd type in its order, and then it would say, no, I don't want any of that, and start all over again. After about ten minutes, the line behind it was getting really long, and I told it to makes up its tiny little mind. The thing started squawking like a boiled parrot. It wouldn't stop until the manager came to see what happened, and he fired me on the spot. He said he wanted the uniform back, so I stripped it off right then and there and walked out."

"Please tell me you weren't wearing the Hello Kitty knickers. Where'd those scrubs come from?"

"A woman on the street took pity on me."

"You _were_ wearing the knickers." They watched the Doctor in a companionable silence for a while. Harry couldn't resist the urge to smooth Malfoy's tangled hair, which elicited a happy purr.

"Remember when you spied on me on the Hogwarts Express?" Malfoy said drowsily.

"You broke my nose. I really couldn't forget. My petting your hair reminded you of that? I'm your new Pansy Parkinson? "

"You're much sexier than Pansy. I was really angry with you that day."

"You don't say."

"I got over it." Malfoy fell asleep, snoring softly. Harry watched three more episodes of 'Doctor Who' with the smell of cooking grease in his nose.

JUNE 2, 2000

It was Friday afternoon, and it was one of Harry's weekends off. He'd just stepped out of the shower when Malfoy let himself in the front door. As Harry pulled on his bathrobe, he heard Malfoy calling for him, sounding jubilant. "I'm in here."

Malfoy burst into the bathroom and tossed a small bundle at Harry, hitting him on the hip. "What do you think of that?"

Harry picked up the bundle and pulled off the rubber band holding it together. It was a roll of five, ten, and twenty pound notes. "Where'd you get all this?" Harry noticed that Malfoy had his facial piercings back in, and that he was wearing more eye-liner than ever.

"My new job." Malfoy smiled wickedly.

"You're not doing something illegal, are you?" Harry got a mental image of Malfoy selling baggies of marijuana on a street corner. He'd be arrested in minutes, probably.

"I don't think so. One of my clients was a policeman."

_Clients_? "Are you a... prostitute?"

Malfoy gave him a haughty look. "Hardly. I dance."

"Naked dancing?"

"I start out with clothes on."

"So... let me get this straight. Working fast food, too degrading for a Malfoy. Taking your kit off for complete strangers, just fine."

"People like to see me naked."

Harry laughed. "Of course they do. And you like when people like to see you naked."

Malfoy tilted his head so his hair fell across his face, and gazed at Harry side-long through his lashes. "Want to see what I do at work?"

"I'm afraid I have to leave. Dinner at the Weasley's. I can't really take you with. Sorry. Ever since the war, Molly doesn't do well around people that aren't family." Harry tossed the wad of bills back to Malfoy.

"Fine. I'll just watch a movie tonight." Back stiff and chin high, Malfoy stalked away. Harry told himself that the dejected look on Malfoy's face didn't bother him. He almost believed it.

JUNE 3, 2000

Malfoy started out acting distant, still miffed about being left alone the night before. But before Harry had gotten half-way through his breakfast, Malfoy was in his lap. Harry noticed that he'd helped himself to Harry's Chudley Cannons boxers. "You're getting jam in your hair. Were you always this affectionate?" Harry asked.

"You know you like it."

Harry grinned. "I never had a lap-pet before."

Malfoy mewed, then bit Harry on the ear. "What are we going to do today?"

"We're going to work out."

"You work out, I'll watch."

"No way. I'm going to put some muscle on those noodles you call arms. Eat some sausage. You're going to need the protein."

Malfoy frowned skeptically. "I don't know if Malfoys can get muscles. We've evolved side-by-side with house elves. I don't think Father has ever lifted anything heavier than a book in his life."

"We're going to try. Now shut up and eat."

Half an hour later, Malfoy lay on the bench in Regulus' old bedroom. Harry had removed half the weight that he usually pressed from the barbell. "Let's try this first." Malfoy wrapped his fingers around the bar, and Harry helped to maneuver it off the rack. "I'm going to let go when I count down to one. Three, two, one." The barbell immediately plummeted. Harry caught it and put it back on the rack. He took off a plate on each side. "Three, two, one." The barbell plunged again. "Are you even trying?" Harry put a set of smaller plates on the bar. "Three, two, one. That's better. Now, do that nineteen more times."

"It sort of hurts."

"No pain, no gain. Feel the burn."

Malfoy groaned and whined his way through the set. "Water."

Harry gave him the bottle. "Now do another set of twenty reps."

"My arms are going to fall off."

"I'll stick them back on with Spello-Tape."

"Why are you torturing me?"

"Because you're wandless, and it's a rough world out there. Those scrawny little Malf-arms aren't going to be of much help if you get in a spot of trouble."

Malfoy heaved a sigh and did another set. "Am I done?"

"Shake your arms out. One more set. Then you're done, all right?"

When Malfoy finished, Harry put more weight on the bar, laid down on the bench, and started pressing. Malfoy stood rubbing his arms and ogling. His tongue flicked over his lips as he watched Harry's pecs and biceps flex and grow shiny with sweat. As soon as Harry racked the barbell, Malfoy threw a leg over the bench and sat down on Harry's pelvis. "You are so damned amazing." He leaned down and kissed Harry deeply, his tongue sliding in and caressing. Harry's arms curled around the fragile blond's body, and his hands stroked smooth, soft skin. He was suddenly hungry for more, crushing his mouth hard against Malfoy's, and sliding his hands down to Malfoy's firm little bottom, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of the Chudley Cannons boxers. Malfoy moaned and sucked Harry's tongue into his mouth.

"You're so hard," Malfoy whispered into Harry's ear as he ground his hips on Harry's. Harry gasped at the sensation of Malfoy's erection pressed against his own. He writhed and whimpered, wanting more. Malfoy gave a low, growling laugh. "Keep that up, and I'm going to come right in my pants like a thirteen-year-old."

_"Remember Sterling Heywood, that ginger that got caught snogging a boy from another school at a chess club tournament?" Uncle Vernon was looking smug. Never a good thing. "He's dead. He hung himself in his parents' garden gazebo. It just goes to show, that sort is naturally unstable. We don't need that kind around, anyway." Dudley looked a bit green. "What's wrong with you, Dudley? Aren't you glad you don't have to attend class with that disgusting invert any more? I was about to pull you out of that school. They should have expelled that boy."_

_Dudley put on a ghastly fake smile. "That's great. I hated that arse bandit."_

_"Dudders! That's a penny for the swear jar!" His mother gave him a playful swat._

_Harry sat staring into his plate of gristle and wilted vegetables, his appetite gone._

Malfoy was looking down at him with a hurt expression. "You want me, and then you don't. What am I doing wrong?"

Reaching up to touch Malfoy's cheek, Harry said, "Nothing. Nothing. You're perfect. It's just... the people that raised me... they damaged me."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "Did they- did they-" his voice dropped to a whisper, "-do things to you?"

"You mean, molest me? No, it was all mental, what they did to me. I think- I think that I was gay all along, but the things I heard them say about gay people were so horrible, I hid what I was so deeply… I even hid it from myself. I blocked out so much. I even made myself not know that you were gay until I saw you at that café with him."

Malfoy smiled a little. "You blocked out that I was gay at Hogwarts? Really?"

"Really."

"Seriously? Everyone knew I was gay. The giant squid knew I was gay. The centaurs in the Forbidden Forest knew. I mean, after the Moaning Myrtle incident-"

"What was the Moa-"

"The only way I could have been more obvious was if I'd had a sign on my arse that said 'open for business'. You really, truly were able to make yourself not know?"

"Yes."

"What did those people do to you?" Harry told him. Malfoy's upper lip curled in a snarl, exposing his sharp canines. "Muggles."

"They're not all like that. There are good ones. I just had the bad luck to be related to the worst sort of Muggle."

"If I had my wand, I swear I would hunt them down and turn them into the slime mold that they really are."

Harry laughed. "First you'd have to find them. As soon as I got them to believe in the existence of Voldemort, they went into hiding. I think they may have actually left Earth."

Malfoy cringed a bit at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, but still looked fierce. His eyes were almost black. "I could find them."

"Not necessary." Harry ran a hand through Malfoy's hair, marveling at its softness. "Just be patient with me, all right? Let's take it slow."

Malfoy gave Harry a gentle, lingering kiss. His lips brushed Harry's lightly, and he used only the very tip of his tongue. "There. Was that slow enough?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled up at the blond boy, eyes half-closed and dreamy. "Do it again."


	2. Chapter 2

...

JUST MOMENTS LATER ON JUNE 3, 2000

"Who's Kreacher talking to?" Draco asked, his lips up against Harry's throat. The house elf's bullfrog voice was faintly audible.

"Mmm...probably just a firecall. Ignore it. Keep doing what you were just doing."

Draco chuckled, and started kissing and nipping Harry's neck again. It felt divine.

"Master Draco and H-harry are upstairs lifting things that don't need to be lifted to make muscles so they won't need Kreacher any more." Kreacher's voice was closer. "Harry! Master Draco! Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa are here!" There was the sound of two sets of footsteps on the stairs.

"Oh, _fuck me_," Harry and Draco said simultaneously. Draco jumped off of Harry and grabbed a towel, holding it over the Chudley Cannon boxers to hide his erection. Harry began bench pressing again. When the two elder Malfoys entered the workout room, it was clear from the arch glances they exchanged that they knew there had been more than strength-training going on.

"How did you find me this time," Draco said wearily. He dropped the towel.

"Amalthea Goyle doesn't live too far from here, now that she's left Gregory's father. She saw you." Narcissa eyed her surroundings sharply, frowning. "This house could use a decorator."

"Or an arsonist," Lucius sneered. "The Blacks did always have the most appalling taste." He was holding up the hems of his black robes as if he was afraid they would be contaminated.

"What do you want?" Draco asked. Harry couldn't quite read him. His tone of voice was petulant, his eyes looked sad, and he seemed to be leaning ever so slightly toward his mother.

"You two need to get presentable. Then we'll talk." Narcissa took her husband's arm and led him out and down the stairs.

"_Bloody hell_." Harry shook his head and grimaced. "I was not expecting that."

"Try _living _with that."

"I noticed you didn't need that towel very long."

"The presence of my parents is an instant willie wilter. It may not work for a week now." Draco tried to sound flippant, but there was a heaviness to the way he spoke.

They showered and dressed, and found the Malfoys seated stiffly on Harry's new couch, staring with distaste at the Muggle things scattered around the former dining room. Narcissa snapped her fingers, and the tiniest house elf Harry had ever seen appeared, wearing a doily like a strapless dress. She was carrying a pie and a bottle of wine, which she presented to Harry. "Oh, uh, thanks." He reached down to take the gifts.

Narcissa snapped her fingers again. "Take those to the kitchen, Posey," she said imperiously, "and tell Kreacher to bring us tea. He should remember how we like it." Posy curtseyed and obeyed.

Lucius crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. "It's your birthday on Monday, Draco."

Draco slumped on the recliner, forcing Harry to sit on the couch next to Narcissa. "I know that. Why wouldn't I know that?" His legs were sprawled out in front of him, covered by Harry's Teddy bear pajama bottoms.

"We're throwing you a party. We've rented the ballroom at the Vermillion Gryphon. " The Gryphon was an expensive hotel at the more luxe end of Diagon Alley. Harry had never been there. "Since you irrationally refuse to come back to the Manor, we've compromised by bringing the party to London."

Draco groaned. "This is about Astoria again, isn't it?"

"Neither she nor her family have seen you for months. They're beginning to have second thoughts."

"Good." Draco slid down further in the chair.

Narcissa excused herself to go run herd on the house elves, her high heels clicking briskly. Lucius leaned forward and glared at his son. "Astoria is a girl of impeccable bloodline whose family is willing to overlook... certain things in our past. If we lose her, we will not be able to get anyone else near as good."

"Why not? You can just cast charms on them like you have with the Greengrasses."

Lucius' eyes were only slightly less deadly than a basilisk's. "You will attend the party. You will be cordial to the Greengrasses. You will look respectable. No outrageous hair colors, no rings or studs above the neck, proper dress robes that cover those hideous tattoos, no cosmetics. You will not wear any item of clothing or any accessory that is considered feminine. You will not dance on a table or kiss another boy. If you will not voluntarily behave as I want you to, I will find a way to compel you to. Do you understand me?"

Draco sulked, looking years younger than his age. "You can't compel me to like it." He was slouched down so far in the chair, he was barely still in it. He slapped his bare feet impatiently on the floor.

"At least do it for your mother. You know how much she wants a grandchild."

Draco's face softened. He sighed. "All right."

"And leave Potter at home."

The sulk was back. "He's my friend!"

"A bit of advice that will make your life much easier: never bring your lover to an event your fiancee or wife is attending." Lucius settled back against the couch. "Now, what have you been doing with yourself lately?"

"I dance naked for money."

Lucius frowned so hard, his face wrinkled up like an old potato, but Narcissa came bustling back in before he could say anything. "Who wants sugar in their tea?" she asked brightly.

...

Harry watched the green flames in the fireplace make Lucius and Narcissa disappear. "Should we brick it over?" Draco asked him.

"A booby trap. A trap door that leads to a pit full of sharp bamboo stakes."

The elder Malfoys had stretched out their visit to early afternoon, Narcissa taking time out from the excruciating conversation to make sure the house elves made the noon-time meal to her satisfaction. Harry wished he'd asked Molly for the spell she used to stretch bottles of wine, since the one the Malfoys had brought was nowhere near enough for four people. Harry could've downed two bottles by himself. By the time they had finished lunch, Draco was reduced to the mentality of a five-year-old, clinging to his mother and cringing from his father. Their family dynamic made the Dursleys seem... well, not normal, but perhaps not quite so freakish.

"Master Draco is not pleased with what Kreacher made him?" The house elf held up a plate full of untouched food, looking mournful.

"It wasn't the food that was bad, it was my father. Just throw it away." Draco was sitting at the kitchen table, face down on the wood.

Harry put his hands on Draco's tensed up shoulders and started massaging them gently. "Who needs blood relatives, anyway. Right?"

"Mmm... that's nice." Draco let out a delicate sigh. "You know, I should just show up at the party dressed like Dr. Frank-N-Furter. Maybe sing some show tunes. It'd be the last thing I ever did because Father would slay me where I stood, but it would be fun."

Harry laughed. "I'd like to see that. Well, the suspenders and the singing, not the slaying."

"Hey, Harry!" The boys looked up, surprised both by the voice coming out of the fireplace and the flames that had suddenly sprung up in it. Ginny put her hand over her mouth. "Oops. I didn't mean to interrupt. Uh, hi, Malfoy. Should I call back later, Harry?"

"It's fine. We were just talking. You and Ron and Hermione still coming tonight?"

"Of course! So, um, are you going to join us, too?" Ginny was staring at Draco speculatively.

Draco turned, giving Harry an unsure look. "He is. For once, you'll be the only one without a date," Harry said.

Ginny stuck her tongue out. "See you later." She vanished in a shower of sparks.

Resting the back of his head against Harry's stomach, Draco said, "Meeting your friends. That's a big step."

"You've met them all before."

"Never in a situation when I wasn't being a complete arse."

"And never in a situation when you weren't backed up by Crabbe and Goyle. Are you scared?"

"Rather terrified, really."

...

Draco was still all wound up from his parents' invasion, jittering around and making Harry nervous. He kept talking about his mother, chattering compulsively about how she used to cut up his food for him, and kiss his knees when he skinned them, and gently brush his hair each morning. Harry wanted to ask why Draco didn't just move home when it was so obvious that he missed his mother, but he knew the question wouldn't be received well. "Why don't you go out and get something for us to drink tonight? A brisk walk might set you right," Harry suggested. After putting on a pair of Harry's slippers, Draco loped down to the shop a couple of blocks away. He returned half an hour later with a smitten boy in a smock following behind lugging a heavy box full of liquor bottles. He had the boy carry the box into the former dining room.

"Thank you, Nigel." Draco gave the boy a ten pound note, pressing it into his palm and folding his fingers over it. He held the boy's hand a beat longer than necessary.

"Any time, Draven." Nigel, who was short and spotty and shapeless, looked like he'd won the lottery.

"Should I be jealous?" Harry asked with amusement after the shop boy had- reluctantly- left.

"I just know how to get good service." Draco flipped his hair back and smiled. He seemed to have recovered from his parents' visit.

"Go change. I'm not sure how Ginny would feel about seeing you wearing clothes that she gave me."

By the time Draco came back downstairs, wearing his own torn jeans and Type O Negative shirt, in addition to a generous amount of sparkling kohl, the front door was opening. "I've had the worst day, Harry! The Harpies owled me a rejection letter, and I think I'm going to have to quit my job because my boss wants to date me, and he's married and old." Ginny was in pink from the heels of her sandals to the rhinestone clips in her hair. Harry remembered Parkinson's gang once teasing her mercilessly for the heinous crime of wearing pink while ginger, and Ginny had never worn the color again while in school. She was obviously making up for it now.

Catching sight of Draco, Ginny stopped short, causing Ron and Hermione to slam into her. "Oh, um, hi, Malfoy."

Draco gave a faint smile and a tiny wave. "Hi." Ginger and blond locked eyes.

"Come on, come on." Harry grabbed one white arm and one freckled arm and escorted them to the old dining room. Draco chose the recliner, Harry took the ottoman, and Hermione, Ginny and Ron sat on the couch. All three guests stared silently at Malfoy, who seemed to shrink beneath their combined ocular assault. Except for his silver-grey eyes, which got bigger and bigger.

Harry jumped up. "Ron! Come help me with the food." Figuring Ron would be the most hostile, Harry hoped that removing him from the situation would raise the temperature in the room a few degrees.

As soon as they were in the kitchen, Ron hissed, "I thought Ginny was joking! Him! Why _him_?"

"Grab that big bag of crisps and put them a bowl, please? Because he just showed up on my doorstep."

"Like a cat?"

"Very much like a cat."

Kreacher wandered in, saw all the Muggle junk food Harry and Ron were putting on plates and platters, and went back to his room muttering, "It stinks like garbage, it does."

"There's a bloke in the Transportation department who fancies you. Doug Botterill. I could set you up," Ron said.

Harry made a face. "The one that always wears a lemon yellow sweater vest?"

"He may not be as good looking as Malfoy, but at least he doesn't use his head as a pincushion."

"I think the piercings are sexy."

Ron mimed throwing up. "Harry, are you all right in the head? Has he bewitched you? It's _Malfoy._"

"He's changed."

"Come on, no one can change that much. He's still got to be a complete git."

"No, Ron, we've all changed. A lot. I mean, just look at Ginny. She's hardly the same girl at all."

Ron gave Harry a hard look. "And I suppose that's got nothing to do with you."

"I didn't say that. But we _have_ all changed. No one can go through what we've gone through without some sort of... lasting effects."

Lifting his chin, Ron asked, "How have I changed, then?"

Since the end of the Second Wizarding War, Ron's natural tendencies toward anger and broodiness had increased so much that Harry was amazed that Hermione hadn't yet poisoned his tea and buried him in the back garden. As he was not feeling particularly suicidal, Harry decided not to mention it. "You must have noticed that, outside of work, I barely talk to anyone besides Hermione, you, and your family. And Teddy, of course."

Ron smiled for the first time that night. "That hardly counts. Teddy's only just turned two."

"He makes a lot more sense than most grown-ups I've known. If it wasn't for Teddy, I'd hardly ever leave the house."

"How very convenient that a boyfriend showed up at your door. Must be some sort of git delivery service. Come on, just give Doug a chance. He's a really nice, straight-forward type. Cheerful all the time, what you see is what you get, uncomplicated-what do you think?"

"Sounds perfectly dull, actually. And _lemon yellow sweater vest_. I don't know anything about fashion, but I do know that's just _wrong_."

Ron gave Harry a pitying look. "Malfoy's bewitched you, I just know it."

Laughter filtered down from the floor above. "Then he must have bewitched Ginny and Hermione, too. Kreacher, could you help us bring all this upstairs? Put it on the coffee table."

The house elf stomped out of his room. "Not proper food at all, is it? Kreacher could make an eel pie, or liver and onions, or blood pudding, but _Harry_ wants to serve guests food not fit for apes." Harry and Ron exchanged amused looks.

Back in the old dining room, Hermione and Ginny were both laughing so hard, they were wiping away tears. "I can't believe _Draco Malfoy_ worked at an O'Clucky's!" Ginny gasped out.

"Not for long," Draco said.

"Stop making me laugh. My stomach hurts. You know, I'm starting to feel better about my week."

"I'm sorry about the Harpies," Harry said, patting Ginny's hand.

"But the letter also said she should try again next year. That's something, right?" Hermione said.

Not laughing any more, Ginny shrugged. "I'll bet every rejection letter they send says that. Harry, how about a drink?"

Harry set Kreacher to work as bartender. Ginny stared at the bottle of whiskey that the house elf was opening. "I know you've got money, Harry, but since when did you start buying expensive Muggle liquor? What that brand costs could buy a week's groceries for a small family."

"Draven- Malfoy bought it."

Ron snorted. "Daddy's money."

Draco's back stiffened. "I bought that with money I made myself."

"Not with what you made at O'Clucky's," Ginny giggled, after savoring a sip of perfectly aged whiskey.

"I dance now."

"Naked," Harry clarified. Ron made a choking sound.

"You can make that much money stripping? I'm making hardly anything working reception at that numerologist's office," Ginny said.

Ron rasped, "Don't even _think_ about it."

"Go for it, Ginny," Hermione stage-whispered, earning herself a nasty glare from her fiance.

Ginny got up and wandered over to the corner where an old-fashioned wizard radio sat. It was as big as a stove, and was covered with green brocade and gleaming oak. She turned a knob- ka-chunk- ka-chunk- ka-chunk- until the sounds of the WWN's Saturday Night Oldies Dance Party came wafting out.

"I love this song!" It was 'Even Ogres do the Twist,' by Ogilvy and the Ogresses Three. "Someone dance with me!" Ginny held out her drink-free hand beckoningly and started twisting. Draco jumped up and joined her.

Harry found himself mesmerized by the graceful movements of Malfoy's hips. He bit his lip and stroked his finger around the rim of his glass. Ron hit Harry on the knee, rather hard. "Get that moony look off your face. It's disgusting."

Hermione cast her eyes up to the heavens. "Stop being so _Ron_."

Ginny tossed back the rest of her whiskey and asked Kreacher for more. The Chantarelles 'Sha La La La La (Rebel Wizard Boy)' came on the WWN. "Come on, Hermione, dance with us!" Hermione got off the couch, kicked off her pumps, and started frugging.

"How do girls know all these dances?" Ron asked.

"I'm not a girl!" Draco was on his third glass of whiskey and seemed to be feeling quite good. He didn't miss a step to Snookie Snitch and the Bludger Backbeats' 'Groovy Griffin Dance', flapping his arms like wings while lifting his knees high. Ginny and Hermione joined in on the line-dance, executing the pivots flawlessly. Harry wondered the same thing as Ron- how on earth did anyone remember all these dances?

The Magical Moptops sang 'Little Lottie (Prettiest Witch in Liverpool)', followed by the Cauldronaires four-part harmony 'Full Moon Folly'. It was a slow song, and Draco leaned over Harry and stared poutily until Harry got up and took the other boy in his arms. Ginny averted her eyes, dancing by herself.

"Good," Hermione said, "this was beginning to look too much like the Yule Ball. Harry and Ron sulking in their seats while Malfoy dances with everybody."

Draco swayed against Harry, eyes half-closed and a self-satisfied smile on his lips. "I don't remember much of the Ball after Flint started passing around a bottomless flask of firewhiskey."

"So you don't remember dancing with Longbottom?" Ginny asked.

"Not at all. No one ever told me about it."

Ginny and Hermione started giggling.

"What?"

"It was completely against his will. You cornered him and and made him slow dance with you. As soon as he got away from you, he barricaded himself in a cloakroom," Hermione said.

"He thought you were going to ravish him," Ginny added. The girls started giggling again.

"_As if_," Draco huffed.

"Well, everyone knew you were with Goyle, who was much uglier,"said Hermione.

"That wasn't a relationship. I allowed him to service me. I thought he should consider it an honor, you know, someone that looked like him being allowed to touch someone that looked like me. It wasn't very nice of me. I wish I hadn't been so awful to him." Draco laid his head on Harry's shoulder.

Harry shot Ron an I-told-you-so look. Ron grimaced.

The slow song ended, and 'Gimme Galleons' by Broomstick Brenda and the Clean Sweeps came on. It was time to dance the monkey.

...

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Harry was helping Kreacher clean up.

"The girls like me a little, I think. Ron still hates me. I can tell." Draco tried to help, but was so unsteady on his feet from drink that everything he picked up ended up on the floor.

With the evening's detritus cleared away, Harry looked at Draco shyly. "Could we sleep together tonight? I mean, _just_ sleep. With pajamas on." His cheeks pinkened.

"Of course." Draco pulled Harry in for a whiskey-flavored kiss.

JUNE 4, 2000

It was a morning routine now: Draco playing his HIM CD on the boombox and sauntering around in next to nothing while preparing an inedible breakfast. Today, he was frying up tomatoes and mushrooms while clad only in Harry's gym shorts, which hung low on his narrow hips. Harry couldn't figure out how he never got splatter burns on his torso. He was singing and waving the spatula around. Draco's bad cooking wasn't the result of incompetence, Harry believed; it was just that he didn't pay much attention to what he was doing. Or _any _attention. There was going to be a grease fire one of these mornings.

Harry didn't care. He sat watching Draco with a dreamy look on his face. This morning, their relationship had progressed a little more. They hadn't even taken off their pajama bottoms, but Harry had learned a bit of what his years of Dursley-induced chastity had deprived him of.

_He'd woken up spooned against Draco's back, his face buried in blond hair. Inhaling, he could smell shampoo and, underneath, a spicy sort of scent that was Draco's own. He ran his hand over the other man's smooth chest, exploring. _

_"If you're checking for scars, dittany took care of them."_

_Harry was surprised. Up until now, Draco had been very averse to talking about anything that had taken place when he was a Death Eater. "I can't believe you tried to Avada me because I saw you cry."_

_"PMS." Draco stretched, rubbing his buttocks up against Harry. "Mmm... you're hard." He turned over and put one leg over Harry's hip. "Is this all right?"_

_"Yes." They kissed languorously while they gently rocked their pelvises together. After a few minutes, the heat and throbbing in Harry's groin was making him mindless. He panted into Draco's mouth as his hips moved faster. _

_The sweet explosion caught him by surprise. His eyes flew open. Draco, flushed and breathless and damp with perspiration, grinned. "Was that your first orgasm?" Harry could only nod. Draco reached into his pajama bottoms and brought himself off, mouth opening wide as he made a lovely shuddering moan. Merlin, he was beautiful._

_When he could speak again, Harry asked,"Is it always so sticky?"_

_"If it's any good, it is."_

A plate of... something was slapped down in front of Harry. He looked at it and realized he couldn't tell the tomatoes and the mushrooms apart. Another part of the morning routine was Draco sitting on Harry's lap. He kissed Harry with tongue. "Want your second orgasm right now?" Draco asked huskily, lowering his eye-lids.

"I think Kreacher would have an attack of the vapors if I did that in his kitchen. And, actually, we have company coming." Harry glanced at his watch. "In about twenty minutes."

Looking sulky, Draco complained, "But I wanted to have a day of just the two of us together. I'm working tonight."

"Sorry. This particular guest comes every Sunday I have off."

"It's not Ron Weasley again, is it? He _really_ hates me."

"Hmm, I wonder why. Could it be that you nearly killed him once with some poisoned mead?"

Draco gave Harry a stricken look and slid off his lap. "Don't."

"Do you think you could let me know somehow what things about sixth year are and aren't all right to joke about? Maybe a booklet with pie charts and an index?" Harry sounded exasperated, but he smiled when he spoke. He gently brushed a lock of hair out of Draco's eyes. Draco responded by playfully nipping at Harry's fingers. "And more mood swings. Use those teeth on your breakfast. I've got plans for all three of us. It'll be fun."

Harry was just coming down from his bedroom after getting dressed when he heard Andromeda calling from the kitchen. Draco turned to look at who was coming up the steps and reeled back, his face turning a sickly shade of grey. Harry raced downstairs. "Oh, shi- that's your aunt Andromeda. I'm sorry, I should have warned you."

Draco sagged against a wall, staring wild-eyed at the woman in front of him, who resembled a kinder, fairer Bellatrix Lestrange. "I- s-sorry, it's just..."

"It's all right. The first time Harry saw me, he shouted at me." Andromeda hefted Teddy onto one hip and held out a hand. "You must be Draco. You look so much like Lucius did when he was young." She looked him up and down when he shook her hand, taking in the patch-covered jeans, the sparkly red boot laces, and Ginny's rhinestone hairclip fastened just behind his left ear. "A much different sense of style, though."

"_Down_," Teddy demanded, squirming madly to get at his godfather. Today, his hair was eggplant colored, and his eyes were green shot with gold. When Andromeda put him down, he clamped himself to Harry's leg. He was the very definition of dimpled-cheek adorableness, except for the snot-bubble coming out of one nostril. "_Hay-wee._"

"Oh, is that the werewolf baby?" Harry and Andromeda both glared at Draco, who deflated a bit. "Sorry. That's just what my parents call him."

"That does sound like Lucius and Cissy. He's not a werewolf, he's a Metamorphmagus, just like his mother. Well, I have errands to run. Goodbye, Teddy." The tot was too enraptured by Harry to respond. "Nice to finally meet you, Draco. Harry, I'll come get Teddy at five o'clock." Andromeda went back down to the kitchen.

"Who's dat?" Teddy stared at Draco with bright-eyed curiosity.

"That's your cousin." Harry was down on his knees, trying to get Teddy to blow his nose.

"My_ tuzzin_," said Teddy. "Mine?"

"My name is Draven," Draco said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"_Day-beh_."

Harry stood up, took one of Teddy's hands, and grinned at Draco. "Come on, Daybed."

"Couldn't I have a drink first? I'm still a bit wobbly from thinking my mad aunt was back from the dead."

"Whiskey just makes you wobble more. Sunshine and fresh air, that's what you need, Debit."

"We're in the city. There is no fresh air."

"Whatever you say, Davy."

Out on the sidewalk, Teddy insisted that Draco take his other hand and that the two men swing him between them as they walked, which had Draco moaning about his sore arms within two minutes. The destination for the day was a shop-lined dead-end street that was temporarily closed to traffic for the weekend. A small fair filled the street and sidewalks. Teddy shrieked with excitement when he saw the balloons and the carnival games. Then he saw _it_. Heaven in the form of pink, fluffy, tooth-rotting decadence. "_Tannyfoss_." Harry lifted him up so he could watch the sugar being spun into threads and the threads being wrapped around paper cones. Draco pulled money out of his pocket.

"Don't let Teddy eat too much," Harry said, "I don't want him getting sick."

Draco gave bits of the confection to Teddy, who was soon a happy, sticky mess. He also took pieces for himself, holding them to his tongue and letting them melt. The obvious pleasure he took in this made Harry feel a tad over-heated. Feeling Harry's gaze, Draco started sucking lasciviously on his sugar-coated fingers.

"Not while I'm with Teddy, please," Harry croaked. He was starting to sweat.

When Teddy and Draco had their fill of cotton candy, Draco dropped the rest of it on the ground. A split second later, a middle aged woman with an armload of parcels stepped in it. Harry mouthed an apology at her as she fumed and tried to scrape it off her shoes. Draco, distracted by a tee shirt stall, didn't notice a thing. He paid for one and pulled it over the shirt he already had on. It was lavender, with a glittery decal of a winged unicorn flying in front of an rainbow.

Harry felt like every girlish item of clothing and every bit on glitter that Draco wore was a sort of revelation. They were like Draco's sweet, heat-stopping smile: a part of the boy that he didn't show to everyone. "You really are just an odd-looking fourteen-year-old girl, aren't you?"

Draco slanted a look at Harry. "I'll take you into that alley right now and prove that I'm most definitely not a girl." He ran his fingers under the waistband of his jeans.

"_Please_ don't be a tease while I'm with Teddy."

The next thing to catch Teddy's attention was an area in front of a pet shop filled with cages and small pens. Puppies, kittens, hedgehogs, rabbits, guinea pigs and...

"Go on, Potter, say whatever it is you're going to say."

Harry kept a poker face as he peered into a cage full of playful ferrets. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Hmm, that white one there is strangely sexy." A mother gave him a look and sidled away, keeping her body between Harry and her little girl.

"_Sessy_," Teddy said adamantly.

"Good job, Potter," Draco smirked.

"I thought he was too busy looking at the chinchillas to hear me."

"_Sessy_. _Sessy. Sessy_." Teddy, having picked up on the fact that Harry didn't want him to say the word, repeated it with glee.

Harry picked the little boy up and held him in front of the ferret cage to distract him. "Let me tell you a story about about a bouncing ferret."

"He was the most beautiful ferret in the world," said Draco.

"But he was also a very spoiled ferret who thought he was a princess."

The antics of the long-bodied, frisky creatures entertained Teddy for nearly ten full minutes, which was a minor miracle. But then he screamed and kicked until Harry put him down. "_Dere's a me beh_!" He scampered over to a ring-toss game, where a Teddy bear that was nearly as big as Harry hung from the peak of the booth.

A sign on the booth said that to get a giant prize, the player had to land three rings on the one red-painted milk bottle. Harry gave some coins to an American with too few teeth and got his three rings. The booth attendant goggled at the younger mothers in their short skirts and picked his ears as Harry tossed his rings. All three bounced off the red bottle. Harry paid again, and discreetly palmed his wand, putting most of its length up his sleeve. When the attendant started gawking at knees again, Harry used his wand to guide his next throw directly over the red bottle. It bounced off again, too narrow to actually fit. He carelessly tossed the last two, then got three more.

The ring-toss attendant, apparently deciding that the women around him were not worthy of further regard, started sneering at Draco, who was holding Teddy's hand. "My baby sister back in Wisconsin has the same shirt." Draco blew him a kiss. "Faggot!"

"Illegal immigrant," Malfoy drawled.

Harry took advantage of the moment to make all three rings bigger and guide them onto the bottle. "Look, I won the bear." Teddy started bouncing with excitement.

"Like hell you did." The attendant turned, saw the rings on the bottle, and turned purple. "You cheated! That's impossible!"

"Oh? Why is that? Because the game is rigged?" Harry said loudly, getting the attention of a half a dozen women. "There are three rings on the red bottle. I won the bear."

"Give him the bear!" someone started chanting.

"No way! That's a super-giant prize!"

"I can't hab da me beh?" Teddy looked near tears.

"His name is Teddy," Harry told the mothers around him, "so he calls it a 'me bear'." He knew it was the sort of thing that got womens' maternal instincts all stirred up. More people took up the chant, and the press of outraged mothers around the booth got to be too much for the attendant. He tore the bear down and thrust it at Harry. "Take it and get out of my sight, queer-boy. I can't believe two perverts like you are trusted with a kid. You make me sick, you fu-" A large wasp flew right into the man's mouth and stung him on the tongue; he started screaming and flapping his arms, knocking most of his milk bottles down.

Walking away from the kerfuffle with the bear over his shoulders and Teddy doing a happy-dance around his feet, Harry looked at Draco. "That was a very odd thing for a wasp to do, now, wasn't it."

"No teeth for it to be afraid of. And no one likes an American who doesn't know the proper definition of 'fag'."

"That's your 'I am really, really pleased with myself' walk." Harry had seen it enough during his school days. It was supposed to be a swagger, but it came off more like a model's cat-walk strut.

The smell from a nearby fish and chips stall made Harry's stomach gurgle. He bought some to share with Teddy. Teddy liked the chips, but ptooey-ed the fish out on the ground. Draco was about to start in on his own chips when he sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "What's that smell?"

"I poohed," Teddy said.

"Ugh, that's revolting!" Draco backed away from the tot.

"What, Malfoys are such rarefied creatures that they don't soil their nappies?"

"Malfoys don't poo. I thought you knew that, Potter."

Harry left the bear with Draco and found a book shop that was willing to let him take Teddy to the toilet. He performed a cleaning charm he'd learned from Molly Weasley, the source of all practical child care magic. When he got back to Malfoy, the blond was busy ignoring a greasy, rat-like man, whose obliviousness to the arctic chill his advances provoked was equal to his ignorance of the concept of personal space. Harry watched the man sidle closer when Draco turned his back on him. The man attached his hand to Draco's bottom. Startled, Draco jumped and cursed, trying to slap the man's paw away. "A new friend, darling?" Harry asked innocently. The masher took one look at Harry and melted into the crowd. "And that, Day-bed, is why you need to lift things that don't need lifting."

"But I have the Chosen One to rescue me," Draco lisped in a high-pitched voice, acting the part of a wide eyed, lash-fluttering grateful maiden.

"I'm serious. I can't always be around to chase nasty, grabby arseholes away."

Draco kissed Harry softly on the lips; a couple of nearby schoolgirls squealed in delight. "What if I want you to always be around?" His gaze went over Harry's shoulder. "Ooh, CDs!" Harry stood there speechless. Did Draco really mean what he said? He watched the blond boy flip through a bin labelled 'Heavy Metal.'

"Day-beh tissed Hay-wee."

Harry looked down at Teddy, who clung to his front like a baby monkey. "Yes, he did."

Happy with the purchase of two CDs by a band called Nightwish, Draco led them to a candy shop. Teddy saw a multi-colored lollipop bigger than his head and began to fuss. "Don't even think about buying that monster," Harry said to Draco.

"Yes, Dad." Instead, Draco bought a lolly as big around as a water glass. He unwrapped it and handed it to Teddy.

The little boy gave it a lick, then stared at it. He shook it, then licked it again. "It won't _do_." He stared at it even harder, squinting his eyes and grunting a little. The lolly shattered and Teddy began to howl.

Draco looked abashed. "I thought candy would make him happy. It always made me happy." Which, Harry guessed, was why his mother sent candy to Hogwarts by the crate-load.

"He's not used to Muggle candy. And it's nap time." At the mention of the dreaded three-letter word, Teddy began to kick and scream, instantly in full tantrum mode. "Looks like our date's over, Day-bed." He put a small charm on the bear to make it light enough for Draco to carry, and threw Teddy's thrashing little body over one shoulder.

Back at 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry plopped the enraged toddler down on the couch in front of the TV. "Tubbies," Teddy whined. His face was a mess of tears and mucous.

"If you must," Harry sighed, popping in a video tape. Teddy blinked sleepily as fat, brightly colored creatures pranced around on the screen. He smeared the mess on his face with the back of his pudgy hand while Harry pulled his little lace-up boots off. It wasn't long before his eyes closed, and he was sleeping face-down with his rump sticking up in the air. Harry immediately turned the VCR off. "Thank heaven," Harry said, "those damned Teletubbies give me nightmares. I had the most dreadful one last week involving Snape. Snape and _Teletubbies. Horrible_."

"How do you do it?" Draco asked. He stared at Harry with awe.

"Do what?" Harry was flipping through TV channels, looking for sci fi.

"You're really good at being a daddy. How do you know what to do?"

"Whatever my aunt and uncle did, I don't. And I pester Molly Weasley without mercy."

Draco crouched on the recliner on all fours and smiled like a cat. "Want to be my daddy?"

"If that's a sexual come-on, it's rather disturbing."

"Would you prefer teacher and naughty schoolboy? Someone will still get spanked."

Before Harry could even begin to imagine a response, Posy apparated in front of the TV. She had a stained, tattered ribbon around her bald head, tied in a sloppy bow that drooped into her large, mud-colored eyes. She held out a parcel to Draco. "Master Lucius gives this to Master Draco to wear to his birthday party."

Underneath the string and brown paper was a set of drab robes in navy blue. Draco made a sound of disgust. "Father is just being nasty, I think. _He_ wouldn't be caught dead in anything this boring."

Kreacher peeped into the room. "Posey is here!" The female house elf blushed and clasped her hands under her chin, looking at Kreacher shyly.

"You have got to be joking." Harry looked at Kreacher, who was puffing his chest out manfully.

Draco giggled. "Where did you think little house elves come from?"

"I really don't want to know. _Really_."

"But if they mate, you'll be entitled to their second-born. Of course, as slowly as they breed, you probably would be in your fifties before you got the elfling."

Harry put a hand over his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. "Oh, please, please,_ please_, don't say any more. And, Kreacher, I don't care what you and Posy do, just do it out of my sight, all right?" The two elves obediently disappeared. Harry did not want to know where they went.

Draco squirmed onto his back, legs and head dangling over the recliner's armrests. He looked at Harry upside-down. "It's supposed to be a good omen for lovers. If our house elves mate, it means you and I will be together forever."

Harry opened his mouth, but his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth like he'd been Langlocked. From the corner of his eye, he watched Draco as he kicked his long legs and sang along, off-key, to an advertisement jingle. Harry had no idea what to think of what Draco had just said. Did he want to be with Harry in a real relationship? Was he done with Robert? Was the past week more than just playing for him?

His thoughts were interrupted by Draco leaning for a light kiss. "Time for work. Sunday nights aren't as lucrative as Friday or Saturday, but I'm too new to get the really good shifts," Draco said. Harry surprised both of them by grabbing him and pulling him down for a deeper, harder kiss. "Mmm... whatever's gotten into you, Potter, I like it." Harry watched him walk away, liking the way his faded jeans outlined his bottom.

When Teddy woke up, Harry put him in the tub and dressed him in fresh clothes. Andromeda came promptly at five. She raised an eyebrow at the giant Teddy bear. "Is it all right if that beast stays with you?"

Harry laughed. "Sure."

He and Andromeda had a light supper together in the old dining room, chatting for a couple of hours while Teddy scribbled on a pad of paper and talked to the bear. Occasionally, Teddy would interrupt the adults to tell Andromeda about his day. "I think Draco made quite an impression on him," Andromeda said to Harry.

"He does have a talent for that."

...

The sound of feet on the stairs woke Harry up. The shower ran. The door to Harry's room opened. Draco came in with a towel wrapped around his hips and started rummaging around in a dresser drawer for something to wear to bed. "It's all right," Harry said, sitting up. "You don't need to put anything on." With a smile, Draco let the towel slip off. Harry stared. "You're pierced _there_, too?"

"Aren't you going to get naked, Potter?" Harry quickly slipped off his pajama bottoms. Draco sat beside him on the bed. He took one of Harry's hands and wrapped it around himself. "See what you do to me?" It was heat and velvet and steely hardness and, when Harry tentively ran his thumb over the tip, wet slickness. Draco made an appreciative hum deep in his throat. He put his hand on Harry. "Just do what I do."

What Draco's hand was doing to him was pure bliss. Harry did his best to imitate his lover's movements, but he felt self-conscious and clumsy. He paused. "Do-do you wish I was more experienced?"

Draco smiled and licked his lips. "No. I love knowing I'm the only one who's ever touched you like this."

"But this is schoolboy stuff."

"So just imagine that we're back in school. It's after a Quidditch match, and you and I are the only ones left in the changing rooms." Draco put his free hand on top of Harry's and moved it up and down. "I've had one off to that fantasy more times than I can count." He leaned over and put his tongue in Harry's mouth, while his hand did magical things. Harry forgot about his self-doubts, focused on the build-up of delicious tension. His second orgasm wasn't quite as unexpected as the first, but it still surprised him with how perfectly, wonderfully right it felt. Draco licked his own hand clean. "Faster, Harry," he panted, gasping and thrusting his hips when his own climax came.

When Draco kissed him, Harry could taste himself. They laid down, Harry on his back with Draco resting on his chest. "So, did you have other fantasies about me?" He could feel Draco's mouth curl against his bare skin.

"At least half a dozen. I have a really good one about potions detention. I'll tell it to you next time," was the drowsy reply. Draco's eyes closed and his breathing deepened. Harry fell asleep with blond hair tickling his nose.

JUNE 5, 2000

Harry woke up back to back with Draco, who was paddling Harry's rear end with the bottoms of his feet. "What? I don't have to get up yet. I'm on a later shift all week."

"Who said anything about getting out of bed? It's my birthday. You have to be nice to me until I have to go to work."

Harry and Draco rolled around under the covers for a while, laughing and sighing and whispering things to each other and discovering each other. Afterwards, they soaked in the bathtub together, Draco sitting between Harry's knees with his back resting against Harry's front. Harry was relieved that Kreacher had already made breakfast by the time they made it down to the kitchen, but _he_ had never gotten a sausage patty in the shape of a heart on _his_ birthday.

Kreacher brought the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_ to Harry. 'FROM ENEMIES TO LOVERS?' the headline blared, above photographs of Harry and Draco at the street fair with Teddy. "This is what passes as news?" Harry asked grumpily.

Draco leaned over Harry's shoulder to scan the photos and the rather floridly written article. "You're Harry fucking Potter, what do you expect? You have to admit, we look good together."

Harry watched himself place a hand on the small of Draco's back. Draco, who had been talking to Teddy, turned and gave Harry _that smile_. If he had been looking at a picture of two strangers, he would have assumed that they were in love.

"I've got to get going. I start my shift in half an hour," Draco said.

"What kind of person goes to see a stripper at noon on Monday?" Harry teased.

"Business men on lunch."

Harry looked down into his plate, stabbing at his eggs. "What will Robert think about you stripping?"

"He can't say anything. Robert goes to the clubs all the time. He claims he never gets lap dances, but I don't know if I should believe him."

"So, what exactly does a lap-dance involve, anyway?"

Draco smiled, putting one finger in his mouth provocatively. "I'll show you later."

...

By the time Harry got off work, Draco had left for his birthday party. Expecting to be alone until late, he dozed off on the couch while watching an episode of 'Hammer House of Horror.' He was woken up by a loud crack from the hallway. Draco came into the old dining room, yanking his robes off roughly enough to pop the seams. He threw them on the floor. "Kreacher! Burn these!"

"That bad?"

Wearing just a pair of Oxford boots and Harry's blue and white plaid boxers, Draco got on the couch and laid his head in Harry's lap. He looked oddly naked with most of his piercings removed. "Ghastly. Seeing Millie Bulstrode again was the only good thing about it. Though I think she may have cracked one of my ribs when she hugged me."

"Was Demelza with her?"

"No, she had to stay and run the inn." Draco stretched his arms and wiggled his back against the couch. "I know for sure now that Father has charmed the entire Greengrass family. They stare at me with these horrible glassy-eyed smiles. It's like something out of those movies you're always watching. Astoria attached herself to me like a barnacle and kept talking about how she can't wait for our honeymoon. She even put her tongue in my mouth." He made a face. Harry stroked his hair and made sympathetic noises.

"Pansy was swanning about like a tragic heroine all the while; she thinks that if I'm to enter into a sham marriage with a woman solely for the purpose of creating a Malfoy heir, it should be with her. Blaise brought his mother. She immediately aimed her cleavage at Father, and now Mother isn't talking to him. Everyone kept raving about how Greg Goyle's new boyfriend looks just like me. Somehow, both of Greg's parents were invited, and they had a nasty drunken row right in the middle of the dance floor. Then I walked in on them... reconciling in the mens' toilet. Right on the toilet."

"That can't have been pretty."

"Hideous, actually. Marc Flint and and Theo Nott cornered me and tried to recruit me for this wizard they say will be the next Dark Lord. When I said I wasn't interested, they got threatening." Harry made a mental note to start investigations on Flint and Nott. "The Crabbes were there. They started asking me all these questions about..." Draco closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I can guess."

"When I couldn't tell them anything, they got angry and started shouting awful things at me, and that's when I left." His voice was starting to sound thick.

"Listen, you shouldn't take what the Crabbes said to heart. Not knowing what really happened to their son has driven them round the bend. They're at the Ministry all the time because they think there's some sort of vast conspiracy at work against them." Draco just turned his face against Harry's stomach. "I got you a present."

"Why are you so good to me?" Draco said to Harry's abs.

In a light, teasing tone, Harry asked, "What, you don't think you deserve it?"

Draco looked up at Harry. His eyes were bleak. "No."

"Stop it." Harry grabbed a package wrapped in pages from the Quibbler and threw it on Draco's chest. "Open it."

Draco pulled the attached card off and opened the envelope. "Bastard!" he laughed. The card said 'For the Birthday Girl,' and had a glitter-encrusted illustration of a unicorn on the front. Under the paper was a pair of pajama bottoms printed with pink flamingos sporting sunglasses.

"I wanted to get you Hello Kitty ones, but they don't seem to make them for people as tall as you."

Draco got up on his knees and kissed Harry. "That's my favorite birthday present this year."

"What else did you get?"

"I don't know. I never got around to opening the ones I got at my party."

After they snogged a bit, Harry put his hand under Draco's chin, feeling pleased with himself for making those gray eyes look happy again. "It's still early. Let's go out. Whatever you want to do."

That sweet smile that shot sparks right through Harry appeared on Draco's face. "Anywhere?"

"Anywhere."

...

They ended up in a section of Camden that Harry had never been in before. The small shops and stalls that lined the street were closed, but there were enough pubs and clubs around that things were still lively. Draco clomped ahead of him in Frankenstein boots and the obscene Cradle of Filth shirt. All his piercings were back in. So were the goat-eye contact lenses; Harry still didn't like them. There was something about the ensemble that made Harry think of armor, and not just because of the metal plates on the shins of Draco's boots.

Draco led him into a black-painted building. When Harry saw that it was named the Angry Troll, he wondered briefly if it was a wizard pub, but the clientele was obviously Muggle. There were spiked mohawks, black lipstick, full-sleeve tattoos, and many other fashion statements that would have had the Dursleys reaching for the smelling salts. When he caught a whiff of the mens' toilets, Harry knew for sure the place was one hundred percent Muggle; no establishment with house elves would ever stink that badly.

It was also all black inside, except for a mural of zombies eating people's brains on one wall, done up in black-light reactive paint. The floor was sticky beneath his feet. Draco pulled him to the front of the venue and close to the stage, worming through all the bodies already there. Several people greeted him as Draven. There was an explosion of flashpots and a band started playing. Harry was surrounded by thrashing limbs and hurtling bodies. A ham-size fist narrowly missed hitting his face, giving him a vision of his spectacles being smashed beyond the help of any Reparo, so he swam his way to the bar and sat down on a stool.

He watched the pit roil and bubble from a safe distance, every so often catching sight of Draco with his hair flying. The music was more something Harry felt in his bones and gut than something he heard with his ears. It wasn't what he would call good, but he could admit that it had a visceral, adrenaline-pumping appeal. The band members may have been part giant. They were absurdly tall and broad and shaggy, and one was wearing an animal pelt. In between songs, the singer shouted at the crowd in Scandinavian-accented English.

When the set ended, the crowd swarmed the bar area, desperately thirsty. Draco grabbed Harry's pint and sucked it down in one long pull. Harry could smell the fresh sweat on his lover, and it made him want to do things. "You've lost your left lens." Draco reached up and plucked the other one out, wiping it on the side of the bar. "Gah! How can you just stick your fingers in your eyes like that?"

"So that's why you still wear glasses?" Draco was attempting to sit on Harry's lap without tipping the bar stool over. "That's fine. They're sexy on you. And I like when I get them all steamed up."

"Yeah, they're doing it right now. Probably because of where you're putting your hand."

Harry didn't think it was possible, but the second band was even louder than the first. He could feel his teeth bouncing in his head in time to the bass-line. By the time they stopped playing, he felt shell-shocked. Draco came to him with a brilliant grin on his face, his eyes huge and bright in an endorphin high, and his shirt torn half off. Harry would have thought the blond would be tired out after his time in the pit, but he was positively radiating energy.

Emerging into the night, Harry was a bit disoriented. Draco held his hand all the way to the Tube station. At the platform, he shoved Harry against an ad for push-up bras and kissed him deeply. The stacked boots he wore made Harry remark, "It's kind of strange, having to turn my face up for a kiss."

"I can't wait to get you home." Draco raked his teeth along Harry's neck.

"Then let's go." Harry laughed. "You're going to have to get off me first, though."

"Mmm. I like being on you. But if you insist." Draco let Harry loose. "Is that our train?"

"YOU." The two men turned. A short, familiar-looking woman was glaring at Draco.

Harry squinted at her. "Regina Higgenbotham?" He was fairly sure she'd been a Hufflepuff year ahead of him in school.

"Stay out of this, Potter." Regina stepped up until she was almost standing on Draco's feet and made herself as tall as she could. "I can't believe a piece of scum like you is allowed to be out among decent folk. You're disgusting. Your whole family is disgusting. You should be in Azkaban for the rest of your miserable life." She was shaking with rage, sweat popping out on her upper lip.

"Please-" Harry tried to interrupt.

"_Shut it_. Malfoy, my sister was so frightened about leaving home to start her first year at Hogwarts. She was so terrified of Death Eaters after our favorite aunt disappeared. But my parents convinced her that Hogwarts was the safest place she could be. And then _you_ let Death Eaters into the school. My sister has never been the same. The healers say she'll always be fragile. She may never be a wife or be a mother now. _You_ did that."

Regina paused for breath. Tears were flowing down her face. "And then my father disappeared. The last we heard, he was taken to Malfoy Manor. Denton Higgenbotham? The Velvet Voice of the WWN? Does that ring a bell? Do you think- do you think you could at least give us a body to bury?"

Draco was holding his hand over his mouth, and his eyes were like two holes burned into his head. When Regina spat in his face, he didn't try to wipe it off.

"And _you_, Potter." Her lips curled back in a horrible parody of a grin. "My family and I- what's left of my family, I mean- we could never figure out why you helped the Malfoys like you did. But I saw this morning's paper. I get it now. Did Draco get down on his knees to thank you, then?" She let out a sound that was both sob and laugh. "I hope he's worth it." She turned away and and half-ran up toward street level, heedless of the people she smashed into.

"Come on. Let's go home." Harry, conscious of watching Muggles, tried to take Draco's elbow, but the other boy wrenched his arm away with a curse. "What?" Draco leaned over and vomited, staying bent over with his hands on his knees and panting. Harry touched his back to comfort him, but Draco just hit his hand away. "Come on, there's a police officer coming, and he's looking at us."

Draco allowed himself to be steered into a train car, but refused to sit down. He was standing in the aisle, not holding on to anything, and wobbling in those monster boots. He was going to break an ankle. "Why are you acting so stupid?" Harry demanded impatiently.

Draco's head whipped around; his eyes were wild, white showing all around the irises. "Don't fucking call me stupid!"

"Just tell me what's wrong!"

"Oh, so St. bloody Potter can come to the rescue again! God, you're so predictable! You make me sick!"

Harry was too angry to speak. He clenched his fists and bared his teeth.

"Go on, then! Hit me! You know you want to!"

All the rage drained out of Harry in an instant. "Draco." The blond flinched at the sound of his first name coming from Harry's mouth. "If you want someone to punish you, find someone else. I won't do it."

The train pulled into the station nearest Grimmauld Place. Harry stepped off, then turned. Draco was still in the car. "Aren't you coming?" Harry asked. Draco shuffled after him silently. When they got home, Harry changed and went to bed immediately, but Draco took a very long shower. He climbed into bed wearing the flamingo bottoms and curled up against Harry's back.

When Harry woke up the next morning, there was a note on the pillow next to him, written in perfect cursive on a shop receipt. _Robert says I can come back now. Thank you for letting me stay. _


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: Description of abuse-caused injuries.

...

JUNE 6, 2000

Harry shuffled to the bedroom Draco had been using. The duffel bag was gone, but there were things strewn all over the room: a tangled silver chain, the Oxford boots, a pair of jeans shredded beyond decency, a couple of pornographic magazines, expensive-looking silk socks, the torn Cradle of Filth shirt, a doodle-filled notebook with a cartoon ladybug on the cover, cat-eye sunglasses, an Eminem CD without a cover, a collection of short stories by Angela Carter, satin leopard-print boxers, a small kitty plushie. Harry studied the random bits of flotsam as if they were clues for a puzzle he was trying to solve.

When he picked up the Angela Carter book, two photographs fell out. The first one had 'Draco and Sir Percival Blancmange-Frillybottom III 1988' written on the back. A chubby-cheeked Draco grinned at Harry, exposing the gap where his two top front teeth should be. His hair was cut so short that it stuck up around his head like dandelion fuzz. Sir Percival was the white peacock that was trying to get at what the tiny boy was holding in his cupped hands. Draco's mouth pursed and vibrated, making some sort of sound that made the peacock lift and spread its magnificent tail. Draco dropped a double handful of grain on the ground, and Sir Percival eagerly pecked it up, his frenzied head movements making the boy laugh silently. Harry smiled in spite of himself.

The second was a picture of Draco and Robert posing with the Statue of Liberty in the background. Both men had faces that were served well by Muggle-style photography; they could have passed as models in an issue of 'Men's Vogue' if it wasn't for Draco's candyfloss pink hair, which was the exact shade of his 'I (heart) NY' tee shirt. Robert wore a tight knit shirt that showed off his gym-honed physique. His brawny arm draped across Draco's frail shoulders enraged Harry so much, he burned Robert completely out of the photo with his wand.

Harry sat on his bed with the photos in his hands. A storm in the form of a boy had appeared and, in one week, completely upended the narrow, circumscribed life that he'd been living for the past two years. Hurricane Effing Draco. For one crazed moment, Harry imagined the whole thing as a more elaborate and humiliating version of dressing up as a dementor, and Robert as some sort of co-conspirator. But Harry knew that the vulnerability Draco had shown the night he'd shown up on Harry's doorstep was real. If it wasn't, Draco should be in films.

All along, Draco had made it clear that he would go back to Robert. But the last two days, the things he'd said- Harry had let himself think about a future shared. What it would be like to have someone waiting when he came home from work. Someone else who would love Teddy. A warm body to hold at night, a soft mouth to kiss and say sweet, sexy things to him. And then Regina Higgenbotham had showed up. Harry looked at the picture of eight-year-old Draco, who was giving a fingers-only wave while Sir Percival groomed his feathers. "You _do_ want to be punished, don't you." He touched Draco's sharp little chin; the little boy seemed to look at him with surprise. "It's partly my fault, you know. I failed you when you needed someone so badly." Harry tucked the two photographs in his sock drawer.

On his way down to the kitchen, Harry's eye was caught by color and sparkle as he passed the old dining room. He gaped at the presents that were piled around the Teddy bear up to its beribboned neck. Boxes big enough to hold house elves sat at the bottom of the pile, wrapped in paper with moving patterns. Several tiny suede boxes from jewelers sat on top. Every possible size in between was represented, too. Harry saw a package stirring, and, horrified by the thought that someone had wrapped up an animal that way, he tore the gift open. It was just some sort of strange, moving plant with dark purple blossoms. "Ouch!" The blossoms had fangs. The attached card said, 'To Draco Malfoy, From Gregory Goyle and Per Lundstrom.' Harry was willing to bet good money that Per was Goyle's new boyfriend, and that Per had picked out the gift.

Sucking on his wounded finger, Harry contemplated the hoard that was occupying his TV room. He spat. The plant had left had a horrible-tasting residue that burned his tongue. He was beginning to dislike Per.

In the kitchen, Kreacher was making an omelet. The HIM CD was still in the boombox, and Harry hit 'play.' "Kreacher, where did the presents come from?"

"Posy brought them. But Master Draco left. Kreacher wonders what Harry did wrong to make Master Draco go away."

"There's a plant on the coffee table in front of the couch. It's a gift for you."

That was when the house elf gave him the messages that had been arriving by owl for the past twenty-four hours. It seemed that many people were offended by Harry being with a former Death-Eater, and they let him know it with the use of creative profanity and crude, animated drawings. This was going to be a very long day.

...

First thing after he got to the Ministry, Harry pulled the file on Denton Higgenbotham. He was taken by Snatchers because it was believed that he was passing coded information to clandestine anti-Voldemort cells via his radio show. A reliable witness (name redacted) had seen him at Malfoy Manor. He was presumed dead, but no body had ever been found. Harry suspected that Draco knew exactly what had happened to Higgenbotham.

Later in the afternoon, he met briefly with Shacklebolt to discuss opening cases on Nott and Flint. "I agree, Potter. Those two need watching. Very convenient, an Auror having a reformed Death Eater for a boyfriend." Harry's head jerked to the side as if he had been slapped. Of course, everyone at the Ministry had read yesterday's paper; Harry had seen the stares and the whisperers in huddles. Now everyone he was acquainted with thought they knew something about him that was no longer true. If it ever was true.

The day seemed like it would never end, and by the time he got home, Harry had a pounding headache. He just wanted to zonk out in front of the TV with a bottle of beer in his hand, but he knew it was not to be when he heard Kreacher talking into the fireplace. "I'm not home, Kreacher!" It was too late. The tread coming up the stairs from the kitchen sounded ominously familiar.

The sight of Lucius Malfoy made Harry flinch. High cheek-bones, a pointed chin, almond-shaped gray eyes, and a thin, high-bridged nose. Lines that made him look distinguished, and a hairline that had receded just enough to give him a widow's peak. Long white-blond hair gathered back by a black gros-grain ribbon. Lucius had been hollow-eyed and puffy-faced around the time of the Battle of Hogwarts, but his looks had recovered. Draco was going to age very well. If Robert didn't kill him first.

Lucius took in the pile of unopened presents and Harry's woebegone look. "Let me guess. You had a whirlwind week with my son, you fell in love with him, and he vanished into the night." He chuckled mirthlessly at Harry's shocked expression. "What, you thought you were the first? I'm going to be cruel to be kind here. As much as you've done for my family, I think you deserve frankness." Lucius walked over to the TV and looked it over with disdainful curiosity as the Doctor utilized his sonic screwdriver. "My son has a deep need to prove that he's desirable. He makes someone want him, and then he leaves. I can understand why he would be drawn to you, the famous, good-looking wizard who saved his life and kept him out of Azkaban. Really, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner. But, in the end, he goes back to _that Muggle_ the way a drunk goes back to his firewhiskey. Forget Draco."

"Can't you make _him_ forget Robert?"

Lucius made an impatient noise. "As a Ministry employee, you should know the limits of memory modification. Something that severe could send him to the Janus Thickey Ward. Narcissa and I would rather see our son with you than..." His lips curled distastefully, "..._him_. But Draco has developed a mind of his own."

"Pity."

"In this situation, yes, it is. it's breaking his mother's heart. If you see him again, tell him that. Now, I shall be going."

"Wait, what about-"

CRACK. Lucius was gone.

"-the presents."

JUNE 9, 2000

Molly and Arthur Weasley had a little extra money now that all their children had moved out on their own, but the Burrow hadn't changed. During the time that the Weasleys had been in hiding during the war, the cozy, crooked house had been vandalized by Death Eaters. Harry could still remember the devastated look on Molly's face as she'd surveyed the wreckage of her home: windows smashed, vile words burned into the kitchen cupboards, furniture piled in the back garden and set on fire. Most of it was reparable by magical means, but Molly still grieved the violation of the sanctity of her home deeply. Now she treated it almost as a museum, trying to keep things exactly as they were before the war. The loss of an old item, or the introduction of a new one- both made her extremely anxious.

That was why Hermione looked so grim as she worked at mending a shattered fruit bowl. "Was Ron getting obstreperous again?" Harry asked. He'd just Flooed in.

"Another crockery rampage. It was about cheese. He wanted cheddar, but there's only Swiss left, and he's irritated by the holes. I sent him to his room for being a bad example for Teddy. Molly's having a cup of catnip tea in the back garden to calm herself down. Could you bring the tables outside for me? "

"Sure." Harry Locomotored the tables into the back garden. Hermione couldn't resist showing off a new spell that made all the mismatched chairs march out like a line of soldiers, their feet hitting the ground in perfect cadence. Teddy, who was trying to catch frogs under Andromeda's watchful eye, squealed delightedly at the sight. Molly smiled at Harry from a bentwood rocking chair.

George and Angelina came, Angelina so pregnant that she looked like a melon on stilts. Bill and Fleur arrived with Victoire in a pram; Molly immediately brightened, and began to fuss over her first grandchild. Ginny came alone, and Percy brought Audrey. Once everyone was there, Hermione sent her Patronus to tell Ron he was allowed out among civilized humans again.

Harry had summoned Kreacher so Molly could mingle with her ever-growing family instead of cooking. Kreacher was less than fond of the Weasley clan, but he did like cooking for large gatherings, and he made liver and onions just the way Arthur liked them. Molly came over to Harry with Victoire in her arms. The baby looked like a wad of bubblegum wrapped in satin. "So, I hear you have some news."

"Oh, er..."

"Yeah, Harry, is it true?" George asked, looking up from his seat next to his wife, "You and Malfoy are an item finally? After all those years of unresolved sexual tension expressed as hostility?" He and Angelina snickered.

Everyone was staring at Harry, and he could actually feel himself getting pale. Molly's face fell. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have said anything if I'd known things weren't going well."

"What? What did Malfoy do, Harry?" Ron demanded.

"He- he left. Just vanished one night."

"That rat bastard!"

"_Rat bastah_," echoed Teddy.

"RON." Molly smacked him on the back of his head.

"OW. But, Mom, he _is_ a rat!" Ron awkwardly put a hand on Harry's shoulder, patting a little too hard. "He doesn't deserve you if he just left like that. You're too good for him. I mean, take away his looks and his family's money, and what has he got? What are you two smirking at?" he demanded of Hermione and Ginny.

"I'm sorry, Ron," Ginny giggled, "but seeing you try to be all caring and comforting is like watching a bear use tableware." Ron stormed off.

"Do you have to set him off?" Hermione sighed.

"Ah, he'll be back as soon as the food is served."

After the meal, Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione played a game of cards in the sitting room. The wireless softly played the jazz stylings of the New Hogsmeade Quartet. "Your place again tomorrow night, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I thought maybe we could go out."

His three friends stared at him. "Out? You want to go out?" Ron said incredulously.

"Is that so strange, Ron?"

"For you, yes."

"I've- I've gone out lately. Draco and I took Teddy to a fair."

"That only half counts," Ron said, "If you try to keep Teddy in the house for too long these days, he starts bouncing off the walls."

"Draco and I went to a club. A very loud one."

"A wizard club?"

"No. Draco doesn't go to wizard places any more." Harry was starting to feel like Draco talking about Robert. "I don't really want to, either."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's sooo hard being famous. All right, then, let's go out tomorrow."

"I don't know, Harry." Ginny was smirking again. "So many changes so fast. You might get dizzy."

"The cinema!" Ron exclaimed excitedly. "I've always wanted to go to the cinema. Can we?"

JUNE 10, 2000

They were waiting for Harry under the theater marquee, Russell Crow in full gladiator regalia over their heads. "I tried to stop him," Hermione whispered.

"Look who came with!" Ron looked very pleased with himself.

A lemon-yellow sweater vest and pleated-front khaki trousers. The man stuck a hand out to Harry and smiled. "Doug Boterill. Pleased to meet you. Some weather we're having, eh?"

Harry shook the proffered hand. "Yes, it certainly is... weatherlike." Doug laughed a little too much. Hermione mouthed an apology at Harry.

After the movie, the men stopped at a diner called, cleverly, the Diner. Ginny and Hermione had deserted them, claiming headaches. Harry was sure they just couldn't take Doug's sarcasm-deaf earnestness any more. "So, what do you think? Are you going to ask Boterill out?" Ron asked in hushed tones when Doug excused himself for a trip to the 'little boys' room,' as he put it.

Harry sighed. "Ron, I know you have the best intentions in the world. But it's not like replacing a pair of socks."

"But Doug is so nice. And Malfoy is so... Malfoy. I mean, I admit he's not as bad as he used to be, but he's still a spoiled, high-maintenance, vain brat. Doug would be so much easier, wouldn't he?"

"I battled the Dark Lord for seven years. I'm used to a certain amount of difficulty in my life. Easy would bore me."

Ron shook his head. "You're bloody mental, Harry."

"I never said I wasn't, did I?" Harry saw Doug returning from the toilet and bit back a curse. He couldn't take any more of the man's blandness. Standing up abruptly, Harry said, "Ah, I'm not feeling well. Gotta go." As he jogged out of the diner, he felt a little sorry for Ron, being left alone with Doug, but not _very _sorry.

JULY 21, 2000

It had a long time since Harry had last been in Diagon Alley. He was only going today because Kreacher's romance with Posy had hit some sort of snag, and the house elf was currently useless for anything but moaning dolorously. His cooking was nearly as bad as Draco's. There were things Harry needed to keep his electronics working without actual electricity, and he couldn't trust the lovelorn Kreacher to purchase the right items.

He wore a cap pulled down low over his forehead, but he was still recognized, and what should have been a ten minute stroll turned into a forty-five minute gauntlet. Stressed and hungry, he stepped into the closest eating establishment. It was a lot fancier than he was used to, with white linen tablecloths and place settings with a bewildering number of utensils. The maitre d' requested that Harry take his cap off before being seated.

Not far from Harry was a table of four middle-aged women sharing a bottle of wine, and one of them was Narcissa Malfoy. She was still a good-looking woman, but a bit care-worn, with deep lines bracketing her mouth. The other three women got up from the table. "Are you coming, Cissy?"

"No, I'll just finish up my wine and then go meet Lucius." As soon as her friends were gone, the sommelier filled Narcissa's glass again. Her eyes met Harry's, and she got up, sloshing her drink a little. It was clear from her unfocused expression and wobbling movements that she was beyond tiddly. She sat at Harry's table and smiled wanly.

"Hello, Narcissa."

"Have you seen Draco?" She spoke with the over-preciseness of someone trying very hard to sound sober.

"I'm sorry, no."

"I wish- I wish he'd stayed with you. I think you'd be good for him. I thought he would have stayed. He wanted you for so long. I could tell he did as far back as second year. He was so venomous toward you because you rejected him from the start, I think." Obviously, Draco had inherited his tendency to blurt out the truth while drunk from his mother.

"He didn't exactly put his best foot forward when we first met," Harry said.

Narcissa swirled her glass, nearly tipping it over. "He tried so hard to be like his father when he was in school. He was such a sweet, affectionate boy when he was little, though. Lucius doesn't believe men should have anything to do with infants, so it was just the nanny and I spoiling my baby for his first six years. Then Lucius decided it was time for him to start Draco's education. He dismissed Nanny, and when Draco cried for her- Lucius rarely hit Draco, but the way he uses words can be worse that fists." She pinched the bridge of her nose in a gesture Harry recognized. "You have to understand, Lucius did the best he knew how. His father, Abraxas, the way he was- he makes my husband look like a pussycat." She took a long drink of her wine. "There were times I thought that Lucius had killed all the sweetness in Draco, but it was just hiding. Letting it show is Draco's ultimate act of rebellion against his father."

Harry's mouth opened, but he couldn't think of one thing to say.

"I just- I just want my son back." Her blue eyes were tearing up.

"Narcissa." A pale hand landed on her shoulder. "It's time to go home." Lucius nodded at Harry. "Please excuse my wife. Red wine makes her maudlin and excessively talkative." He helped his wife out of her chair. Harry could hear him whispering to her as he led her away. "Narcissa, not again. This has got to stop."

JULY 31, 2000

"This has really paid off, Potter." Shacklebolt perused a thick file. "Nott and Flint are definitely going to be Azkaban for a very long time. We should have them on trial early next week. I know you worked all weekend on this, but could you just tie up those loose ends for me?"

Harry nodded. Gently questioning Muggles to see if memory modification was absolutely necessary was not exactly the sort of thing Harry had become an Auror for, but the Ministry was no longer willy-nilly Obliviating people. Memory charms were a risky, potentially harmful business. After a reformist contingent of Ministry employees, led by Hermione Granger, had collected evidence that some Muggles had ended up insane or in vegetative states after over-enthusiastic memory modification, the use of such charms had become more tightly regulated.

Flint and Nott had taken over a vacant store-front in Soho for their activities. They'd blacked out the windows and filled it it with almost everything a Dark Wizard would need. As far as Harry was able to determine, the wizard they were trying to recruit for was themselves. Or, rather, the wizards they would be. For, instead of splitting themselves like Voldemort had done, they were trying to meld aspects of themselves together. Nott's intellect and talent combined with Flint's physical vitality (which Harry put down to hybrid vigor; he was still convinced that Flint had troll blood in him) would have created two very imposing Dark Wizards. It was a very complex and little known bit of dark magic; no one at the Ministry could determine where Nott had learned of it.

One thing that it had in common with making a Horcrux: someone had to die in the process. A body had been found in a sub-cellar of the store-front. Nott and Flint were still both merely themselves, so they must not have done it quite right. They would not be given the chance to try it again. They were already in Azkaban awaiting trial.

The store-front had been emptied out in the night by Ministry workers. All Harry had to do was strike up conversations with employees of nearby businesses. He was shamelessly wearing an outfit that Ginny, Hermione, and Fleur all declared to be quite delicious on him- a green short-sleeved shirt with a couple of buttons undone, and wash-faded jeans that hugged his hips. He'd learned the effectiveness of sex appeal from Draco, and wasn't too proud to use it on the job. But, though his tousled black hair and practiced James-style grin made a lot of people happy to see him (to the point where he'd almost needed a spatula to remove a coffee shop employee from his person), no one had noticed anything unusual about the blacked-out store-front.

It was noon now, and Harry had the rest of the day free. He passed the pub where he'd met up with Draco and couldn't resist a peek through the window. No one resembling Draco or Robert was there, but he did get the attention of a very good-looking gent who made a 'come on in' gesture at him. Harry smiled, shrugged, and walked on past.

A block down, he stopped in front of a narrow building with a sign that said 'Male 2 Male Club'. The window was papered completely over with arty-sexy photos of mens' bodies in various states of dress. What caught Harry's eye was a ribcage-down shot of a slim, pale body with black tattoos winding around the forearms. He pulled open the polished wooden door and went from the sunlight into the dim.

The club was small but clean. The only bright lights shone on the stage, where a tanned, golden-blond man was teasing the men seated around the stage by tugging down the waistband of his board shorts. Other customers sat alone at small tables, waiting for dancers to join them. Harry took a seat.

The song playing had a deep, almost subsonic rumble underneath a cymbal-heavy drum-beat. "_Fuck the pain away, fuck the pain away, fuck the pain away..._" Harry saw a tasseled curtain get pushed aside, and a middle-aged man in a suit walked out, followed by... His breath caught in his chest. Harry had a lot of time to watch Draco as he half-walked, half-danced through the tables, wearing no more than purple bikini briefs and a smile. He was perfect down to the the chipped black nail polish on his toe-nails. His ribs seemed more prominent than they had been before; the way his bones pushed against his skin roused a fierce tenderness in Harry. A construction worker on lunch, complete with tool belt, raised his hand to get Draco's attention. Harry stood up so fast he nearly knocked his chair over. "It's my birthday," he called, "You have to be nice to me."

Draco's eyes went wide and his head jerked back. For a moment, Harry thought he would run away. But then he smiled and stalked toward Harry, pressing him back down into his seat. Putting his hands on the arms of Harry's chair, he leaned down. Harry noticed that the thorned vines had climbed up the thin arms, forming designs: a heart, a bird, a star. "Birthday boys get free lapdances," Draco said huskily into Harry's ear. He turned and shook his rear end in Harry's face, then plopped himself down on Harry's lap and began bouncing up and down to the music.

Harry looked from side to side, trying to figure out what, if anything, he was supposed to be doing. "You don't have to worry about Flint and Nott anymore. They're never going to get out of Azkaban."

Draco's rump missed a couple of beats. "Thank you," he said so softly that Harry barely heard.

Harry reached up and touched Draco's hair. The ends were dyed indigo. He ran his fingers lightly down his beloved's smooth skin, down to the small of his back; Draco flinched when Harry's caress reached the ugly bruise there. "Leave him. Come back to me."

"You're better off without me."

"You're wrong."

Draco looked over his shoulder, pouting. "You don't like the lap-dance."

"It's rather... impersonal."

Harry had no idea what Draco had in mind when he turned sideways in his lap; he just knew he couldn't let this opportunity pass. He spread one hand over the knobs of Draco's spine, using the other to turn Draco's face to his own. Harry was determined that this kiss would say everything that he was feeling.

Draco made a small sound of protest when Harry gently set lips on his. Harry started out moving his mouth softly and slowly, lightly running his tongue over silky flesh. He pressed until Draco parted his lips, deepening the kiss. When Harry sucked on his tongue piercing, Draco melted against him, making that purring noise that drove Harry crazy. After a few moments of tongues stroking the recesses of each others' mouths, Harry made the kiss more forceful, almost bruising. He couldn't stop himself from moaning with want.

That was when a chair scraped loudly against the floor and someone cleared his throat. Opening his eyes, Harry saw a man in a three-piece suit sit down across the table from him. Two very large men stood behind him, like Muggle versions of Crabbe and Goyle. The club manager gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes and spoke softly. "Hey, Snow White, you're here to make money for me, and that's not happening if you're snogging your boyfriend. The customers don't like it. It ruins the fantasy. Get back to work." The man jerked a thumb over his shoulder, then turned his sharp gaze on Harry. "You, I don't want to see here again."

As soon as Draco was off of his lap, the two goons pulled Harry out of his chair and toward the door. "Your mother needs to hear from you!" Harry called over his shoulder. Then his head hit the door and he was out on the sidewalk, blinking in the sunlight. Thrown out of a strip club- that was an entirely new experience for him. There was a lump forming on his head, but Harry didn't really notice the pain. His entire body was still buzzing from the kiss.

...

The Weasleys had thrown Harry a birthday party with everyone there, even George and Angelina with Fred the Second. The revelries had turned into an impromptu game of night-time Quidditch. Harry had done well enough, considering how long it had been since he'd played, but Ginny showed up everyone. Harry returned home with an armload of presents, including a cardigan from Molly, red and with a silhouette of a stag on the back. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

"Harry." Poke, poke.

"Mmm, Kreacher?"

"There is someone at the door, Harry."

Harry was almost right at the door before he heard the faint scratching. Looking through the peep-hole, he saw blond hair gleaming under the streetlight. He threw the door open. Draco stood on the front step barefoot, blood from a split lip and and a torn out earring staining what Harry recognized as his own Weird Sisters shirt. What made Harry barely able to breathe were the livid finger marks around Draco's neck. The look in his gray eyes was skittish and wild. Harry was afraid anything he said would make the other man bolt, so he just stepped back to let Draco come in. He left red footprints in Harry's hallway; he'd cut his feet on the walk to Grimmauld Place.

Harry led him to the bath and sat him down on the commode. "I was so stupid," Draco said, "I didn't need to work in the Champagne Room. I don't really need the extra money. Robert stopped by to see me at work, and he misinterpreted what he saw, I wasn't really-"

Harry gently put a finger over Draco's mouth. "Please, I beg of you, don't talk about him." Draco went quiet. "Where-where else are you hurt?" Draco looked mutinous for a moment, but then he pulled off the shirt, revealing a fresh, nasty bruise on his stomach. It looked like a mark from a vicious punch. Harry leaned down and set his lips on it as gently as he could, causing a hitch in Draco's breathing. Then he had Kreacher bring water, salves and clean cloths. Tenderly, he used dittany to close lacerations and soothe bruises. "You can't go back to _him_," Harry said pleadingly. He was kneeling in front of Draco, swabbing his feet. "He's going to kill you."

Draco put a hand over his eyes."Let's not talk. Please?"

Harry undressed him and got in the tub with him, washing the dried blood off. They clung together, legs tangled, until the water got cold. Harry dried him off, put him in fresh pajamas, and climbed into bed next to him, wrapping his arms around Draco and hoping that what he felt for him was enough to make him stay.

AUGUST 1, 2000

Harry was alone when he woke up. His wardrobe door was ajar, and his sock drawer was open, its contents spilling out. The two photos that had been in the drawer were propped up on top of the dresser. Harry picked up the one with the peacock. Eight-year-old Draco gave his gap-toothed grin and waved. Harry set it back down and looked at the footwear lined up at the bottom of his wardrobe. The shoes he usually wore to work were gone. Cursing, he knocked down the antique pitcher and bowl set that sat on his bedside table. The smash was momentarily satisfying, but then he felt embarrassed, beating up on innocent crockery like Ron did during his tantrums.

He leaned on his dresser, staring at himself in his mirror. Harry rescued people. That's what he did. It was a part of his essential Harry-ness. But what was he do to with someone who didn't want to be rescued?

...

Short of sleep, worried, and lovesick, Harry could not wait to leave work. At five minutes till, the very last people Harry wanted to see barged into his office: the Crabbes.

Ebenezer Crabbe had spent some time in Azkaban after the war, but had been given an early release; the prison's newer, more compassionate management had let him out due to poor health. He sat in a wood and wicker wheelchair. Once as large as his son, he was now shrunken, and as wizened as an old man. His wife Vernice pushed the chair; she had neglected to comb her hair today. It was the same damned conversation as always. "There's no way your son survived the Fiendfyre," Harry groaned, clutching his head.

"Where's the body?" Vernice shouted.

"And don't give us that cock and bull story about a disappearing room!" Ebenezer roared, surprisingly loud for as frail as he was.

"What are you and Draco and Greg hiding?"

"This goes all the way to the top! Shacklebolt is in on it, too, isn't he!"

Harry glanced at his clock. "So sorry. It's time I was going." He pushed his way past the Crabbes, who started hollering insults and obscenities.

Once home, he settled himself at the kitchen table. Kreacher was in an excellent mood, and brought him a shot of whiskey and a ham sandwich without even being asked. At least someone at 12 Grimmauld Place was having a reasonably successful love life. Flames whooshed up in the fireplace, and Harry found himself looking at the scowling visage of Gregory Goyle. "Um, hello." He noticed that Goyle's hairline had been raised somehow, making him slightly less simian in appearance.

"Draco's at my place, and he's making my boyfriend unhappy. Come fetch him."

"Does-does he want me?"

Goyle's scowl deepened. "He won't stop talking about you."

Harry got up and went to get a handful of Floo powder, but Goyle reached out an arm and yanked. Harry tumbled out of another fireplace and hit a coffee table, covered with soot and smelling of singed hair. "Couldn't you have warned me you were going to do that?" He looked up and blinked hard. The eyes were robin's egg blue, and he was nearly a head shorter, but the resemblance to Draco was eerie. "Per?" Harry asked as he stood up.

"Pleased to meet you," the man said with complete insincerity and an unplaceable Norse accent. "You need to control your boyfriend better." He was wearing very tight dragon hide pants and had the skull of a raven hanging from one ear. Runic tattoos ringed his neck.

"Harry!" Draco, who was laying on a leather couch, held his arms out the way Teddy did when he wanted to be picked up. He was dressed head to toe in Harry's things.

"Draco, why did you leave?" Harry knelt to down to inspect him for damage, but Draco seemed unharmed. Noticing a tipped bottle on the floor by the couch, Harry turned to Goyle. "How much did you let him drink? He hasn't got much tolerance for alcohol."

"You think you're telling me something I don't know?" Goyle snarled. "I've known him a lot longer than _you _have."

Per's lips curled downward, and he flipped his waist-length hair. "We didn't _let _him drink, he helped himself. That's very expensive firewhiskey," he said petulantly.

Harry helped Draco stand up. Goyle made a sour face when Draco draped himself on Harry and cooed happily.

"Greg will show you out." Per pointedly turned his back.

"Come on, " Goyle grunted. He was even more of a wall of muscle than he'd been in school. Form-fitting Muggle clothes revealed no body fat whatsoever.

"Charming little missus you've got there," Harry said when they reached the front door.

Goyle glared at him for a long moment, then looked away. "You better take good care of him," he said roughly just before he turned and stomped away.

Out on the front step, Harry realized he had no idea where they were. At least they still seemed to be in London. A walk would sober Draco up a little. He wanted to talk to Draco while he was still tipsy enough to tell the truth, but not so drunk that he wouldn't remember the conversation. Tonight, Harry would get answers.

"I love you, Harry." Draco was hanging on him for support.

"You're drunk. You'd probably say the same thing to Margaret Thatcher."

"But I really do. I'm, like, in love with you."

"And, heaven help me, I'm in love with you, Draco."

"But why?"

"Why are you in love with me?"

"Cause- cause... you're Harry Potter," Draco slurred.

"That's a very astute observation. Oh, no." Draco had vomited on his shoes. Harry cleaned up as best he could with his wand. "At least that ought to sober you up some."

Harry realized they were somewhere in the Seven Dials area and was able to orient himself towards a convenient Tube station. Draco was starting to get more clear-headed, and it wasn't good. "Oh, look at the Chosen One, charging to the rescue again."

"Stop it."

"I don't have to stop anything. Let me go, Potter." Draco squirmed out of Harry's grip.

"Just tell me what's wrong, Draco."

Draco gave Harry a small shove. "You won't leave me alone, that's what." He shoved Harry again.

"_Stop it_."

"You want to hit me, don't you." Shove. "Just do it. _Just do it_." Shove.

Instead, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, too tightly for the slender blond to escape, but not enough to hurt. Draco went stiff and struggled for a few moments, then relaxed into the embrace. "I don't want to hit you, Draco. I know you want to be punished, but I won't do it."

"I smell like puke."

"I don't care. You're coming home with me."

"Why? Why did you come to get me?" Draco voice sounded small.

"I missed you."

"Why?"

They were interrupted by whistles and catcalls. A group of tipsy young women was passing them. "Kiss him already!" one of them called.

Harry and Draco laughed into each others' necks. "Not till you brush your teeth," Harry said.

Back at 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry sat Draco down on the couch and knelt down in front of him, holding both of his hands in his. "Now, tell me what's wrong. I know you care for me. Why do you keep running away?"

Draco looked down at him with sad eyes. "I don't deserve you."

"Because?"

"You- you know don't know all the things I've done. Regina Higgenbotham is right. I-I don't deserve to be `walking around free. I've done terrible things. I've hurt people." Draco's chin started to quiver.

"I know more than you think. I used to see- things. Through Voldemort's eyes. I saw you torturing that big, blond Death Eater. I know you only did it because you were threatened. I can't ever forget how terrified you were, the look on your face- I see it in my dreams sometimes. Anyone would have done what you did in that situation."

Draco was tearing up. "_You _wouldn't. You'd do something heroic and save everyone."

Harry gave a bark of bitter laughter. "Save everyone? I got my Godfather killed trying to be heroic. You think you're the only one with regrets from the war? I've got dozens of them. One of them is that, when I should have realized that you needed help, I was so obsessed with getting one up on you, I nearly killed you instead. I could have saved you from- from so much. But I know one thing. You and Dumbledore in the Astronomy Tower- I saw the whole thing."

"You did?" The vulnerability on Draco's face made Harry's chest hurt.

"You couldn't commit murder to save your own life. I'd stopped hating you a bit before that, but at that moment, I saw something in you. A potential."

"But I did kill someone." Tears were leaking down Draco's face.

"Who?"

"Denton Higgenbotham. The D-dark Lord made me use the Cruciatus on him, and he- he fell over dead."

Harry opened his mouth to say that it wasn't Draco's fault that Higgenbotham died. Voldemort forced him to torture the man, and how was Draco to know he had a bad heart? But Harry knew that saying so would accomplish nothing. Although it was really Bellatrix Lestrange that did the killing, Harry could never stop feeling responsible for Sirius' death. He wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and looked up at his beloved's tear-stained face. "Draco, I love you. I accept you as you are, whatever's in your past. The war is over. We can't ever forget it, but we can- we have to live our lives. We have to forgive ourselves."

"I don't think I can." Draco bit down on the edge of his hand, his stifled sob coming out as a keening sound. His eyes were squinched shut tightly, and his brows drew together and down. The force of what he was feeling made him writhe and arch his back.

Harry did the only thing he could. He held Draco until he cried himself to sleep. Then he laid the other man down with a pillow under his head, took the the vomit-stinking shoes off and spread an afghan over him. He kissed Draco softly on the forehead and went to bed.

AUGUST 2, 2000

When Harry opened his wardrobe door and found another pair of his shoes missing, he knew Draco was gone. He wasn't surprised. It was all too clear that, for Draco, it was easier to accept being an abused possession than to be the recipient of real, unconditional love.

He picked up the peacock photo again. Draco had his back turned for a moment, but, as if he felt Harry's gaze, he faced forward again, laughing as Sir Percival pecked at his toes. Harry remembered reading about people who believed that Muggle photography could steal a person's soul. Wizard photos really did seem to have a piece of the subject's self in them. "The Chosen One is going to come charging to the rescue again, Draco. I'll save your life whether you want me to or not." The words felt hollow as they left Harry's mouth. It wasn't a problem that could be solved by a wand and a Nimbus2000.

In passing the old dining room, Harry noticed that all the jewelers' boxes on top of the stack of Draco's birthday presents had been opened. A pair of monogrammed cufflinks was laying on the floor, and an ugly onyx ring sat on top of the Teddy bear's head. The biting plant, which was hissing at Harry, had a heavy gold chain bracelet in its pot. Harry pondered selling the unwanted jewelry and donating the proceeds to St. Mungo's. Before he ate breakfast, he picked up the phone and called the number he always dialed when he needed help.

...

Hours later, Hermione marched in with her arms full of books and computer print-outs. "Now, listen, Harry, there are a lot of things you need to know." The next hour was a blur of underlined passages, Post-It notes, and diagrams, while Kreacher bustled around them cooking and serving dinner. Domestic abuse, feelings of worthlessness, post-traumatic stress disorder, survivor's guilt, the effects of an emotionally-withholding father...

Harry shoved his empty plate away. "I could end it all by Vanishing- _him_."

Hermione clutched at her hair. "Haven't you been listening? Robert isn't the real problem. Malfoy is his own worst enemy. Get rid of _him_, and Malfoy just finds another _him_. Or maybe even someone worse."

"Just give me the short answer. What can I do for Draco?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Tough love. The next time he comes to you to be patched up, tell him he has to decide, you or _him_. Don't let him come back to you until he's actually ready to stay with you and be done with _him_ for good. Otherwise, the both of you will be trapped in this cycle for who knows how long."

"What if I tell him that and he doesn't come back?"

Putting her hand on his, Hermione said, "You should know by now that even the legendary Harry Potter can't save everyone. Malfoy has to want to save himself."

AUGUST 12, 2000

Upon returning home from a shopping trip with a bag full of junk food, Harry stopped and gaped. Crushing the petunias he'd planted by the front steps was a dented, rust-spotted Ducati motorcycle. When he went inside, he nearly tripped on a purple helmet sitting on the hall floor. In the old dining room, Draco and Kreacher were sitting on the couch watching two under-dressed women fight over a man with gold teeth on 'The Jerry Springer Show.' Draco was laughing, but Kreacher was peeking through his fingers like he was watching a horror flick. For him, it probably was.

Harry remembered what Hermione had told him. He knew he should make Draco leave. But Draco's face broke into the sweet smile that had made Harry fall in love with him and patted the seat beside him, and the tiny bit of resolve the Harry had mustered up melted instantly. When Harry sat down, Draco grabbed him and kissed him thoroughly. "Nice of you to stop by," Harry said wryly once he could breathe again. He noticed that there was now a diamond stud in Draco's labret piercing.

"Robert told me that I'm stupid for buying a motorcycle."

Harry didn't think it was all that wise, himself, but there was no way he would say so now. "Where did you get it?"

"From one of the customers at the club, Tommy Guns."

Oh, holy fucking hell. Harry wouldn't buy a _toy_ motorcycle from a man who actually called himself _Tommy Guns_. "What about your Vespa?"

Draco snuggled up against Harry, nuzzling his face into Harry's neck. "Robert keeps taking it away. And people laugh at me for riding it."

On the TV screen, one of the women lifted her skirt and slapped her bottom. Kreacher covered his eyes completely and let out a horrified moan. "Master Draco, why are you torturing Kreacher? May Kreacher leave?"

"Oh, go ahead." Once the house elf got up, Draco flopped back on the couch, pulling Harry down with him.

Harry pulled up Dracos' shirt and kissed his way down soft, smooth skin to the waistband of Draco's jeans. He unfastened and unzipped and wrapped his hand around what he found. "I want to- to use my mouth, but I don't know what to do."

Draco slid out from under Harry and onto the floor, kneeling between Harry's legs. "I'll show you how." He pulled out a box of condoms and a receipt fell out of his pocket.

"You bought those just for me?"

"Robert doesn't let me use them." Draco ripped a packet open with his teeth and used his mouth to roll the condom on. The sensation of being inside Draco's mouth was the most divine thing Harry had ever felt. The only thing Harry didn't like was how fast he came. He felt less than confident about his abilities when it was his turn, but he did his best. He experimentally used his tongue to toy with the ring that ran through the head of Draco's cock, and was rewarded with gasps and pulled hair. "Harry," Draco moaned when he climaxed, his hips rocking.

Afterwards, they lay together with their jeans undone. "You're amazing," Harry murmured.

"You're not too bad for a beginner." Draco gave him a slow, lazy kiss. Harry's tongue found a gap where one of Draco's teeth was missing.

"Harry! What do you want to do tonight?" Three sets of footsteps came running up from the kitchen. Laughing, Draco Vanished the used condoms, and he was still zipping up when Ron, Ginny and Hermione came into the was a shocked silence, then Ginny smirked. "Lost track of time there, hmm? Hey, if Malfoy's here, I just want to stay in dance to the wireless."

Harry avoided Hermione's gaze. He could feel disappointment radiating from her. Ron was giving Draco a hard look, and Harry was worried for a moment; there was no crockery around to be smashed, so who knows what he'd take his anger out on if he went into one of his rampages. Harry hoped it wouldn't be the TV. Ron looked at Draco and arranged his face into a polite smile. He put a hand out. "Ron Weasley. Nice to meet you."

Draco took his hand and grinned. "You're not going to laugh at my name, are you, Ronald _Bilius _Weasley?" The two women giggled, though Hermione sounded half-hearted about it.

"I won't if you promise to get that stack of presents out of here. I'm tired of tripping over that junk."

Kreacher handed out drinks. Harry served the snacks, as Kreacher still refused to touch Muggle junk food, and Ginny tuned into the WWN's Saturday Night Oldies Dance Party. "It's Seventies Night!" an announcer proclaimed over the opening bars of a disco version of 'Double, Double, Toil and Trouble.' Hermione and Ginny sandwiched Draco as they boogied down.

"Where did you learn to be such a good dancer?" Ginny asked Draco.

"The Slytherin Common Room. We had the wireless on all the time, and we danced a lot."

Ron looked outraged. "Slytherin had their own wireless?"

Hermione and Ginny were both laughing. "Really? _Really_?" Hermione said. "Here, we Gryffindors thought you Slytherins spent all your free time plotting nefarious deeds. But, no, you were _dancing_."

"We got all the evil out of the way on Mondays so we could spend the rest of the week shaking our arses."

"Wait, wait!" Ginny cried, "did Crabbe and Goyle dance, too?"

"Crabbe, no. Goyle, yes." The women began to howl with mirth. Even Ron was laughing a little. Another number started, 'Hufflepuff Hustle' by Disco Lex and the Wizardettes. Draco actually knew how to do the Hufflepuff Hustle, and he taught the line dance to the two girls.

After Wicked Wanda's 'Put Your Wand In' (which was possibly the dirtiest wizard song that Harry had ever heard), Ron tossed a small present at Draco, hitting him on the leg. "Open these damned things already, Malfoy."

Draco sat cross-legged on the floor by the bear and started shredding wrapping paper, revealing a mix of the exotic and the mundane: a brass kaleidoscope, a painting of Malfoy Manor (which made Draco grimace), shearling slippers, a lacquered box that made strange squeaking noises, socks, a tiny chest of drawers for rare potion ingredients, a chocolate chess set, more socks. Pansy had given him a figurine of a white peacock. Along the base was painted 'Sir Percival Blancmange-Frillybottom III' in silver letters. Draco smiled widely. "This is the best one so far."

One of the large boxes on the bottom was a ten-volume set of 'The Erotic Witch's Compleat Guide to the Amatory Arts.' Draco looked at the card and grimaced. 'To my future husband/ From Astoria/ May we get a lot of use from these,' it said. "Het version. Here. You have them." Draco pushed the books at Ron and Hermione with one foot.

Ron turned red. "What makes you think we need those?"

"Shut up, Ron." Hermione started flipping through the books. "I'm rather intrigued by this section on the erotic possibilities of Polyjuice."

Ginny grabbed a volume, earning a dirty look from her brother. "Wow. I didn't know it was possible to do _that_ on a broomstick."

"It's better if you make the broomstick vibrate," Draco said. Ron covered his ears.

A pocketwatch that sang opera, an antique sword-cane, a Slytherin-green bathrobe, a large vase painted with magical beasts, even more socks, and what looked like a pair of steam-powered roller skates. A long, black dragon hide coat, a mirror that showed what the person looking into it looked like from the back, a unicorn plushie from Narcissa. "Mama's boy," Ron coughed into his fist.

Kreacher was given a set of cross-stitched pot-holders. Ginny was happy with a tortoise-shell comb and brush set. Draco gave Harry a Swiss Army knife with extra, magical attachments. The last gift to be opened was revealed to be a saddle of some sort, but no one could figure out what sort of creature it was meant to go on. It had too many straps for a horse."Maybe it's some sort of sex thing?" Ginny wondered.

"I hope not. It's from Amalthea Goyle." Draco shuddered.

"What are you going to do with this?" Hermione asked, looking at the painting of Malfoy Manor.

"Burn it, perhaps."

Looking at Draco speculatively, Hermione asked, "What was it like growing up there?"

Draco was on his back on the floor, feet drawn up to his rump. He stared at the ceiling, eyes fuzzy from drink. "Isolated. There weren't very many other children around. The people that came to visit my father- Death Eaters. Not really the sort you'd want around your family, you'd think. They thought nothing of torturing Muggles for fun. Would you allow them around your little boy? I wouldn't. I wouldn't." He put a hand over his eyes. Ginny and Hermione gave each other significant glances.

"Yes, I'm sure it must be hard, growing up with lots of money," Ron grumped.

"_Ron_," Hermione hissed.

A cheeping noise came from Draco's pocket. He pulled out his phone and flipped it open. A man's loud, demanding voice was immediately audible. "I'm just out shopping, Robert. I'll be home soon." Draco slipped on the dragon hide coat and put the peacock figurine in one pocket, trying to placate Robert all the while. He gave a tiny wave to everyone before he walked out.

"What was that?" Ron demanded.

Harry felt his mouth twist. "His owner called."

"So you're the other woman?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?"

"He must be something if Draco chooses him over you," Ginny tried to joke.

"Robert beats him, actually," Hermione blurted out. Dead silence.

The evening ended soon after that. Ginny and Hermione both gave Harry comforting hugs before they left. Then it was just Harry and the unicorn plushie staring at one another.


	4. Chapter 4

I've had some people question whether wizards would really have churches and baptisms. In reply, I will point out that Sirius was Harry's Godfather, which implies the existence of religious institutions. British wizards also celebrate Christmas, and Hogwarts students get an Easter holiday.

Warnings: Injuries from off-stage abuse, comic violence against body piercings, mentions of blood. Also, sex.

...

AUGUST 25, 2000

It was a leisurely Friday off for Harry. While standing in the hall sorting his mail just before noon, he heard a sickly-sounding motorcycle pull up. There was the sound of a key in the lock, and Draco strutted in wearing the dragon hide coat and grinning widely. He saw the look on Harry's face and lost his smile. "What?"

"I don't deserve more than an unannounced visit every couple of weeks?"

Draco peeled off the coat to reveal tight, faded jeans and a shrunken tee shirt that rode up above his navel. "Don't be angry with me, beautiful." He rubbed up on Harry and stuck his tongue in his mouth, and Harry couldn't think clearly any more. Lips locked, they were up the stairs and into the bedroom, falling together on the bed.

They reluctantly peeled apart for a moment to take their boots off. There was a sound of paper crumpling under one of Draco's knees. He reached under the bed covers and pulled out the skin mags he'd left behind. "Oh, you got some use out of these, hmm?" Harry felt himself flush under Draco's knowing smirk. "Why so embarrassed, Harry? Everybody does it. Did you think about me? Did you?" Harry tried not to smile, unsuccessfully. "You did! Tell me what you fantasized about us." Draco leaned on one elbow and gazed at Harry lasciviously, running his tongue along his upper lip. Harry opened his mouth but couldn't bring himself to say anything. "I'll tell you a fantasy I had about us first, then. I used this one back in school a lot. You and I get lost in the Forbidden Forest and-"

Harry chuckled. "Is thinking dirty things about me all you ever did at Hogwarts?"

"No. I had thoughts about Blaise. And you and Blaise. And Diggory. And Blaise and Diggory. And you and Blaise and Diggory."

"I don't know how you did so well in school with all that going on in your head."

"Oh, and the Weasley twins. And you and the Weasley twins.

"Now I'm a little sorry I asked."

"And Firenze."

Harry laughed so hard he snorted. "_Firenze_!"

"The way he shamelessly strutted around Hogwarts with no clothes on-"

"He had _fur_."

"Every time I saw him, I had to carry my books low and in front."

"You're too much." If Harry didn't stop laughing soon, his stomach muscles would start to ache.

Draco straddled Harry and and dangled the magazines over his head. "So, what do you want to do with me? Pick a page."

Harry took one of the magazines and flipped to a page that was a little more wrinkled than the others. "This one."

"You're ready for that?" Draco pressed his lips to Harry's forehead, licking his scar.

"I am."

When Draco pulled the condom out of his pocket, he also took out a tube of something and wiggled it in Harry's face. "We're prepared, then."

"What is that?"

"_Lube_. You're still a virgin between the ears, Potter."

They playfully undressed each other. When Draco licked his way down Harry's stomach, Harry thought he knew what was going to happen next, but Draco's mouth went to the side, tongue sliding down one hip to the top the thigh. Draco pushed Harry's knees up and apart and his mouth and tongue-

"What are you doing?" Startled, Harry shut his knees, trapping Draco's chin.

Draco looked up at him and laughed. "You don't know about rimming?"

"Er, no. I don't think it was in the magazines."

Pushing Harry's knees apart again, Draco said, "Just trust me and relax. We've got all day." His tongue did heavenly things in a place that Harry hadn't realized tongues could go. Tongue was replaced with slicked-up fingers, and Harry felt himself opening up. _If I give all of myself to you, will it be enough to make you stay_? he wanted to say, but instead he just sighed and moaned, and when Draco was on top of him and inside of him, Harry crossed his ankles behind the small of Draco's back, wanting to keep him there forever.

Afterwards, they lay on their backs looking up at the cracks in the ceiling and talking, exchanging stories about work; Draco had tales of middle-aged men who wanted to be called 'Daddy,' while Harry had experiences with aspiring dark wizards who had turned their faces upside down or made their earlobes invisible when their spells misfired. "You win," Draco laughed. "Don't you ever have nightmares, though?"

"I lost my mind long before I became an Auror." Harry turned onto his side and started stroking Draco's stomach. The skin there was so soft, and Harry liked the line of hair below the belly-button. He traced the lines of his lover's hips, then nipped and nibbled down the outsides of Draco's legs all the way down to his feet.

"The fact that you're involved with me does put your sanity in doubt, I suppose." Draco's eyes went half-closed in pleasure as Harry lightly sucked on his toes. When Harry ran his fingers up the tender insides of his white thighs, Draco sighed happily as his cock began to move. _Time to learn how to put a condom on with my mouth_, Harry decided.

AUGUST 26, 2000

Harry wasn't surprised to wake up alone, but it still bothered him. It felt like Draco was toying with him, doling out just enough sex and affection to keep him hooked. When Draco was with Harry, he was with him one hundred percent. But when he was gone, he was _gone_.

Draco had left a different photo on the dresser. Someone had captured them passing each other in the Great Hall; third year, Harry guessed. The disdainful glares they gave each other were comical on their thirteen-year-old faces. When Harry had passed, Draco turned and flicked his eyes down to Harry's bottom. What he could possibly have seen through the school robes, Harry had no idea.

AUGUST 29, 2000

Harry stood staring at the ornate exterior of a six-story Edwardian-era building. He'd had the Mayfair address for a few weeks, but hadn't gone there before, worried about what Robert might do if he saw Harry hanging around near his and Draco's flat. Impatience was driving Harry now. Was it too damn much to ask for Draco to at least stay for breakfast? Even if he made one of his inedible fry-ups.

The front door opened, and there was Draco with a couple of Schnauzers on leashes. He was wearing ridiculous boots and a shirt unbuttoned to show his nipple rings, his hair in a sloppy pony-tail. Harry waited to make sure Robert wasn't following, then caught up to him. Draco gave him a look of unpleasant surprise. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I miss you when you leave."

"You can't be here." Draco glanced up at the windows of his flat. The dogs barked at Harry. "Schatzi, Heidi, stop it. I mean it, Harry." His voice went Malfoy-imperious. "You need to go."

Harry stared as Draco stalked away from him, back ram-rod straight, nose up. "For fuck's sake, Draco!" Draco just kept walking.

SEPTEMBER 30, 2000

It was a little before midnight, and Draco was on Harry's doorstep, hugging himself. His right eyebrow was split, and his face was covered in blood. "My key doesn't work any more."

"I changed my locks."

"Please, can I stay with you?" His voice was small. "Robert kicked me out."

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his face hard. "Draco. Draco. You punish me for trying to see you by staying away for a whole month. Then you come here so I can fix you up so you can go right back to _him_. I can't- I can't- this has to end. I want more than this. I deserve more than this. If you're not going to stay with me, just leave and don't come back. "

"I thought you loved me." Draco's voice quavered.

"Would I have put up with this much from you if I didn't? But it's not enough that I love you, is it? It won't keep you here with me. It won't keep you from getting yourself beaten again. It won't save your life. Do you love me enough to save yourself?"

They locked eyes for a moment. Harry slowly closed the door, then slid down onto his knees, listening to Draco plead through the mail flap. _The way he's killing you is killing me_, he wanted to say.

OCTOBER 17, 2000

Goyle's face was in his fireplace again. "Wonderful. My life is going in circles," Harry sighed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Goyle demanded.

"Never mind. What do you want?"

"Come get Draco."

"Draco knows where to find me. If he really wants me, he'll come to me."

"What am I supposed to do with him? If Per comes home while he's here, things are going to get sticky."

"I don't know, call Parkinson."

The look on Goyle's face made Harry grab his wand, just in case the muscle-bound lunk decided to lunge through the fireplace to throttle him. "What's your bloody problem? Don't you care about him?"

"I care damned too much."

"Then get over here. He's asking for you."

"Tell him to Floo here, if he means to actually stay with me this time."

Goyle's face disappeared. Draco never came.

OCTOBER 24, 2OOO

Harry woke up with a warm body pressing against him. He turned over to see Draco giving him an unsure smile. He had a scar bisecting one eyebrow. "How did you get in here?" Harry asked drowsily.

"_Alohomora_."

Harry saw a familiar wand sitting on the bedside table. Hawthorne and unicorn hair, precisely ten inches long and reasonably springy. "I thought you threw that in the river."

"I lie sometimes."

Harry brushed a lock of hair back from Draco's face. The tips were pink and black now. "Are you here to stay? Because if you aren't, if you leave me again to go back to Robert, I'll put wards all around my house. You'll never get in again."

"I'll stay. I promise. I missed you." Draco pulled Harry to him for a sleepy kiss.

"Someone forgot to put on pajamas," Harry murmured. He put his fingers in the twin dimples just above Draco's buttocks. He loved those dimples. His hand went lower, seeking the one place he had never been on Draco's body.

"Going to stake your claim?" Draco teased. He spread himself out for Harry, letting him explore and not grimacing too much when he was clumsy. He let out a sweet humming sound when Harry slid inside him, and it pierced Harry right to the core.

Watching those silver-gray eyes lose focus as Harry moved in the heat and tightness, the way that mouth widened greedily, the flush that rose all the way up Draco's body... "You- are-so- fucking- beautiful," Harry grunted in time to his thrusts. He was sure that he would never, ever forget the expression that Draco had on his face when he came, and the way his breath shuddered out of him. _Mine_, Harry thought fiercely, _mine_.

They lay panting and sweaty together, speaking lightly about nothing important, just feeling comfortable with each other in a way they were with no one else. It was what Harry always imagined a real relationship would be like. He closed his eyes as Draco stroked his hair, trying to make it lay down. "I have a feeling that this doesn't mean that things are suddenly going to be easy from now on," Harry said.

"If you want easy, I'm sure that Buggerall person Ron set you up with is still available."

"Ooh, you made up a nasty nickname for him. Is someone is a little on the jealous side?"

"Why should I be? I'll bet he's no good at... Oh, I'll show you later." Draco smiled sexily. "It'll be a surprise."

It would to be a good day, with good surprises.

OCTOBER 25, 2000

Harry sat up and put on his glasses as soon as he woke. The space next to him was empty, the pillow on the floor. He felt sick. "Not again, not again, not again," he moaned into his hands.

"What's wrong with you?" Draco was in the doorway, wearing a familiar-looking pair of purple bikini briefs. He was carrying a plate loaded with charred sausages.

"I just realized that I have to eat your cooking again." Harry couldn't suppress a huge, happy grin.

"So what are you smiling about?"

"Purple bikini briefs. Which reminds me. I don't think you should strip any more."

"Why not?" Draco put the plate down on the bed.

"It's too easy for Robert to find you."

Draco gave him a frosty look and his chin went up. "Oh, that's all?"

Harry laughed and slapped his lover's bottom. "Oh, all right, I don't want others looking at what belongs to me. Is that better."

Draco smiled that sweet, intoxicating smile. "That's better."

OCTOBER 31, 2000

"I know it had to happen sometime, but did it have to be Halloween?" Harry moaned. The night his parents died. He was hoping for a peaceful night of contemplation at home, but it was not to be.

"I tried to put it off, but they are so... _them_." They were getting dressed in preparation for a dinner out with Lucius and Narcissa. Draco was being defiant, donning a fishnet shirt despite being told that dress robes were expected. He seemed to like how Harry looked in his own dress robes, though. "Mmm... you have anything on underneath?" He started pulling up Harry's hem.

"If you start that now, we're going to be late. And you don't have your kohl on. It's almost like you're naked."

They apparated to Diagon Alley. The crack of their arrival turned heads, but Harry knew that the two of them would attract attention no matter what. Draco gave him an uncertain look, and Harry put an arm around his slim waist. Harry knew that returning to the wizarding world, even for just the length of a meal, required a lot of courage on Draco's part. They were just outside Twilfitt and Tatting's. The restaurant, the same one where Harry had encountered Narcissa months ago, was a block away. People stared, but settled for nods and polite greetings rather than swarming Harry like they did the last time Harry was in Diagon Alley. A teenaged boy started forward with paper and quill in hand, but his mother pulled him back. "Leave him alone. He's on a date."

The restaurant was lit by tiny, twinkling lights that hovered just below the ceiling beams. The maitre d' was almost as displeased by the sight of Draco's nipple rings winking through the net shirt as Lucius was. Narcissa, on the other hand, was ecstatic to see her son. She hugged and kissed him extravagantly, and pulled his chair so close to hers that he was nearly in her lap. Harry suspected she'd had a bit of wine before they'd arrived. Lucius rubbed his forehead and sighed. He endured ten minutes of his wife's cooing before he impatiently broke in. "Draco, Saturday there will be a party at the Greengrasses. You and Astoria will announce your engagement there. You _will_ be there, and you _will_ behave." Draco pouted like a thirteen-year-old while his father lectured him on what he would and would not do Saturday night. Lucius took a break for a sip of water and noticed the way Harry was looking at him. "And what is on _your_ mind, Potter?'

"You are aware that Draco and I are a couple?"

"I never said the two of you had to stop seeing one another."

"So I get to be his mistress? Wonderfully generous of you."

"Malfoys are Wizard Anglican, which doesn't permit two men to marry."

"I'm not sure how that makes it any better." Harry was trying very hard to keep his voice down.

"I can convert," Draco said. "Harry and I can get married if we're New Druids."

Lucius spoke in a very low voice that was somehow more frightening than shouting. "I have had enough of your nonsense, Draco. Once upon a time, a proper Pure-blood knew that marriage isn't about being in love. It's about providing an heir. It's about alliances between families. It's about social standing. It's about maintaining bloodlines. This silly romanticism is due to creeping Muggle influence." Harry was starting to feel very, very sorry for Narcissa. "And you will_ not _convert to New Druidism. It is a cesspool of low-born-" Lucius flicked a glance toward Harry, apparently reconsidering what he was going to say. "They're not our sort. They're not even_ real _Druids."

"I'm not your sort, either, am I?" Harry challenged. "What with my mother being a Muggle-born."

"A homosexual lover's blood status is not that important, since there will be no children. Also, one generally does not take one's lover to the sorts of places one takes one's wife," Lucius said prissily.

"That's it." Harry stood up, knocking his chair over. "Let's get out of here, Draco." He grabbed Draco's left arm, and Narcissa grabbed the right.

Lucius' eyes darted all around the restaurant, noticing all the people staring. "Stop making a scene. Draco, stay in your seat."

Draco was poised half-way out of his chair. Harry didn't like the skittish expression on his face. It looked like he was going to run. Harry scooped his lover up in his arms, narrowly missing hitting Lucius in the head with the soles of Draco's monster boots. The maitre d' was quite happy to hold the door open as Harry stomped out. "Everyone I know has been changed by the war. Everyone but _Lucius_ fucking _Malfoy. _He's the same nasty, arrogant, bigoted, snobbish, domineering, racist, pompous, over-bearing arse he's always been."

"You can put me down now," said Draco. A group of matronly witches were watching and giggling as Harry set Draco on his feet.

Harry took Draco by the chin and gave him a light kiss. "Sorry. I don't think I handled things very well."

Draco laughed and put his arms around Harry's waist. "Oh, I don't know. Carrying me out like that was very romantic." They walked down Diagon Alley entwined together.

"Did you actually forget that wizards have have civil marriages, or did you intend on getting your father all riled up with that New Druid remark?" Draco just laughed again. "So, you do know that your mother treats you like you're still five years old, right?"

Draco's face went serious. "She's been like that since I- since sixth year. She thought she was going to lose me for all those months."

"I think you like it, at least a little."

"Hm?"

"You put that unicorn she gave you in our bedroom. It watches me sleep. It watches us have sex. I caught you hugging it while you were having a nap."

"Haven't you ever wanted to be five years old again?" Draco's tone of voice was meant to be light, but it had a melancholy undertone.

"Would it have to be my childhood, or could I have someone else's?"

NOVEMBER 1, 2000

Posy was holding out a parcel to Draco again. Draco made an exasperated noise and the tiny house elf cowered with her hands over her head. "I'm not angry at you, Posy. Go to the kitchen. Kreacher's been baking all day, and he'll probably give you a treat." Posy squeaked happily. She had prettied herself up with a foil gum-wrapper made into a ring and a fragment of tinsel garland around her neck.

"Oh, he can _not_ be serious." Draco held the dress-robes his father had sent up against himself. "He knows how I feel about _brown_."

Harry'd had no idea that Lucius was so good at being passive-aggressive. It wasn't just brown; it was a shade of brown that made Draco's eyes look dull and his skin jaundiced. "Your father is a master of small-scale evil."

Draco tossed the robes on the floor and set them on fire with his wand. "I've got it handled, anyway. I was out while you were at work."

"Will Lucius approve?"

Draco grinned. "It's a surprise."

Harry had just gotten home. He settled himself on the couch, and Draco took off his work shoes and started giving him a foot rub. "So what was the big news you had for me?" Harry asked.

"A modeling agency is interested in me."

Harry lightly pulled on Draco's pony-tail, moving his head back so he could look into his eyes. "It's not naked modeling, is it?"

"I don't do porn," Draco said haughtily, flaring his nostrils.

"Well, excuse me for wondering, _ex-stripper_."

"Unless it was, you know, private. You and I for you and I. We could get a video camera and-"

"The modeling agency?"

"This man was at the clothing store and-"

"Some person off the street?"

Draco dropped Harry's foot and put his hands on his hips. "I'm not stupid!"

"I know you're not stupid. You're just naive when it comes to Muggles. You bought a motorcycle from a man who calls himself Tommy Guns, and now it's a doorstop."

"I can get it fixed."

"Anyway, the man at the clothing store."

Draco started the foot rub again. "He gave me a card and sent me to the agency, and they want me to get a portfolio. They say my look won't get me much catalog work, but up and coming designers would probably be interested in me. After I do ads, I might get some editorial work. And they think I can get work during fashion week."

"I... have no idea what you just said."

Draco laughed. "That's because you shop at the Gap."

"Yeah, well, you shop at Claire's."

NOVEMBER 4, 2000

Harry noticed Kreacher with an half-empty bottle of firewhiskey. "Did Draco drink the rest of that?"

"Yes, Harry."

"What is he doing up there, anyway?"

"Master Draco says Kreacher is not to tell Harry."

Draco had been shut up in the bedroom for a couple of hours, blasting Type O Negative and getting ready for the party. When Harry knocked, Draco just shouted things through the door that Harry didn't understand. Harry was beginning to wonder if he should be worried. Draco had received an invitation by owl on Sunday, saying that the party would start at seven. The bedroom door didn't open until nine. Harry got off the couch and peered up the stairs.

Black platform boots with skull-shaped buckles appeared first. The sleeves had been torn from the fish-net shirt, the better to display the tattooed vines that had crept even further up the pale arms. White blond hair was streaked blue, purple, and black. Bondage bracelets, eyes so heavily kohled they were almost panda-like, a spiked labret, and trousers... _the trousers_. They laced up the crotch, were made of some thin, snakeskin-like material, and sat very low on the hips. They were also exquisitely tight. Just looking at them was making Harry's own trousers feel tighter.

Draco wrapped both arms and one leg around Harry. "I like where this is going," Harry said, dropping a hand on a pleather-clad buttock. The smile was wiped off his face when he felt his ears popping and an unpleasant squeezing sensation all over his body. The two men apparated into a garden with manicured hedges. "_What the hell_, Draco?"

"That's the Greengrass manor." It wasn't as impressive as Malfoy Manor, but it was the biggest Tudor-style dwelling Harry had ever seen.

"Ah, I was definitely not invited." Draco just took Harry's hand and steered him toward the manor. There was a silhouette in a doorway. As they got closer, they saw it was Pansy Parkinson in a little black dress and spike heels, downing a cocktail that smoked and glowed in the dark. "Why doesn't your father have you marry her? She'd do it without being bewitched," Harry whispered.

"She and Marc Flint are cousins. So..."

"Troll blood?"

"No one knows for sure, but something is fishy there. And Father think she's a whore."

Pansy gasped and spilled her drink when Harry and Draco loomed out of the darkness. "Who's that?"

"Just me." Draco gave her a tipsy hug.

Pansy stepped back and looked him up and down, grinning lewdly. Her eyes lingered on the trousers. "You look like a wet dream. I may have to change my knickers." She noticed Harry. "It's true, then, the two of you. I wasn't all that surprised to hear about it, actually. Potter, you should have heard Draco talking about the things he wanted to do to you after he'd had a few sips of firewhiskey. It drove Greg and me positively mad with jealousy. So, spill it, Draco. What are you going to do?"

"Just watch and see."

The three of them went inside and found their way blocked by two slow-moving elderly witches. "It looks like young Malfoy isn't going to show. What a scandal," the one wearing a wig that resembled a raccoon said gleefully.

"Children these days. No sense of familial duty at all," the other, who resembled an aged hedgehog, replied.

"And such strange notions Pure-blood girls have these days. Marrying for love! Ridiculous! Why, I hear they don't want their husbands to have-" the bewigged one dropped her creaky voice lower, "-mistresses." The hedgehog tittered.

"Excuse us, ladies, we have to get to the party." Draco gently pushed between them. They both pretended to be very, very appalled by the sight of Draco, but it was obvious they were looking forward to the fireworks to come. Draco led Harry into a ballroom, across the gleaming wood floor and past shocked party-goers in dress-robes. A string quartet was playing. Draco drew Harry with him up on the bandstand, and the quartet squeaked and skronked to a halt. Harry could see Lucius storming toward the bandstand with a bowel-loosening scowl on his face. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry. "Are you ready?"

Harry looked at the sea of faces staring up at them. "Probably not, but go ahead."

Draco gave Harry a long, deep, soulful kiss, then pulled back and smiled that heart-stoppingly sweet smile. "Will you marry me, Harry Potter?"

There were gasps. There were also scattered shouts of "Say yes!"

Harry grinned as he gazed into those beautiful kohled gray eyes. Draco was being quite clever. He was not only making it clear that he wouldn't consider marrying anyone but Harry; he was also breaking the enchantment on the Greengrass family with the shock of truth. Behind the bandstand, Harry could see Daphne Greengrass and her parents blinking and rubbing their eyes as if they'd just woken up. Which, in a sense, they had. "Yes, I will marry you, Draco Malfoy." They kissed and laughed at the same time. Harry felt giddy. In the wizarding world, making such a declaration was taken very seriously. Harry and Draco were now officially engaged.

Pansy was laughing like a hyena and clapping. She was not the only one. When the kiss ended, Harry looked around the ballroom and saw that nearly every person close to his age was applauding. Or whooping and hollering, like Blaise Zabini did as he raced towards Draco. He jumped up on the bandstand, knocking the cellist off, and slapped Draco so hard on the back that he nearly fell over. "That was a perfect end to that farce, Malfoy!"

There was also derisive laughter. It seemed to all be aimed at Lucius, who was standing frozen in the middle of the ballroom floor. When he saw Harry looking at him, his face twisted into something feral and he began to raise his wand. That was when Harry remembered that his own wand was back home, sitting on his coffee table in front of the TV. Harry didn't know if Lucius' arm was actually moving that slowly, or if knowledge of his impending doom was making time slow down. He tried to get Draco's attention, but Goyle and Per had shown up and gotten between them.

Lucius was knocked down by simultaneous stunning spells. Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass descended upon him. The woman screeched, "How dare you bewitch my entire family!" The man hefted Lucius up by the front of his robes. Narcissa tried to squeeze herself between her husband and Mr. Greengrass, but Mrs. Greengrass seized her by the hair. Mr. Greengrass threw himself on Lucius while the two women shrieked and grappled.

There was a loud crash and a scream as Mrs. Greengrass tossed Narcissa into the champagne fountain. Narcissa just wasn't scrappy enough to hold her own. "_Mother_!" Draco jumped from the bandstand and tried to pull Mrs. Greengrass off of Narcissa.

That was when a tearful Astoria Greengrass leapt onto his back, pummeling him on the head. "How could you do this to me? I love you, you bastard!"

Daphne tried to help Draco, and got a clawed cheek for her effort. "Calm down, Tori! You don't really love him! You were bewitched like the rest of us!" she shouted at her sister.

"No, I really do love him," Astoria sobbed. When Draco tried to shake her off, she wrapped her arms around him and grabbed his nipple rings through his shirt. Draco howled. Harry figured it was time to get involved. Draco's wand was sticking out of his trousers on his right hip. Harry carefully maneuvered in, avoiding Astoria's kicking feet, and pulled it out. Harry wondered if it would still respond to him. He aimed a mild stunning spell at Astoria, and she fell bonelessly to the floor. Draco stood panting and clutching his chest, in too much pain to do anything.

Harry gently picked Mrs. Greengrass up and set her a few feet away after stunning her, too. "Maybe you should apparate home," he suggested to Narcissa softly as he helped her stand. She weighed about as much as a corgi.

"But Lucius..." Her blue eyes had a familiar skittish look..

"I'll get it taken care of, I promise. Just go home." She vanished from his supporting hands.

Lucius was taking a beating from Mr. Greengrass and a couple of other men. Harry's Auror training had included how to do multiple Incarcerous spells at once. It had taken a lot of exhausting work to master, but tonight it paid off. Harry had all four men on the floor, bound and helpless and unable to hurt each other any more. And he was also safe from Lucius' wrath, which was immense. The senior Malfoy fought hard against his bonds, snapping his teeth at Harry like a rabid dog. "Sorry, Dad," Harry told him. "I know this isn't the best way to start our new family relationship."

...

Daphne sat Draco in a kitchen chair and pulled his hands away. She lifted his shirt, and everyone in the room involuntarily crossed their arms over their chests at the sight of his bleeding nipples. "It's all right, lovely, I'm in training to be a healer. By the way, thank you, thank you, thank you. It was horrible being bewitched. It was like my brain had turned to candyfloss. And now you've set a precedent."

"It's a revolution, baby," Pansy crowed. She had a purple cocktail in one hand and a pink one in the other, and was drinking them both.

"Now our parents know we can't be railroaded into marriage they way they were," Zabini said. "_Maman_ wants me to marry Daphne. I don't want to marry anyone. I like women too much to settle for just one."

Daphne laughed. "And I would never allow a husband of mine to cheat, even if he's as good-looking as Blaise. Unlike my mother."

"My parents were trying to get me engaged to my cousin Marc before he got sent to Azkaban. Actually, they haven't given up yet. They think he's going to get out any day now," Pansy said.

"That's not going to happen," Harry interjected.

The Slytherins looked at Harry in surprise; they were so busy rallying around Draco, they'd forgotten he was there. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. "Oh, that's right, you're an Auror," Pansy said, "You're not going to arrest us are you?"

"Why, what are you up to?" Harry put on his best James-style grin. It seemed to work on the girls and Goyle.

"Body search me and find out, Potter," Pansy cackled.

Draco stuck his tongue out at her and made a rude noise. "My father's right. You _are_ a whore."

Daphne applied a salve, and Draco hissed through his teeth. "You'll be good as new, gorgeous. I didn't even have to take the rings out. Now, I wish I could help my sister. What is _wrong _with her? She knows you're gay. She was with me when I walked in on you with that Durmstrang boy. She asked me how you can bend like that."

"It happens sometimes," Harry said, "Some people don't snap out of it. That's why the MInistry has been cracking down on love potions and spells so much lately. We had a case where a goblin used a potion to get a Miss Universe contestant to marry him. You should see the children." He wound his arms around Draco, who was busy inspecting his nipples. "Why don't we get out of here before Astoria attacks again?"

"We were all going out after this, anyway. You haven't done anything with us for ages, Draco. You _have_ to come," Pansy pleaded.

"I'm not going to any wizard places," Draco said.

Pansy laughed. "As if. I didn't wear this dress to go to the Leaky Cauldron. We're going clubbing, right, Greggy-babe?"

...

And that was how Harry found himself in Vauxhall surrounded by people who, just two years and a few months ago, would have happily handed him over to Voldemort. Except for Per, of course. It was obvious the pretty little Norseman would rather eliminate Draco.

It only just occured to Harry that none of the Slytherins were wearing dress robes. They'd all attended the party in fashionable, expensive Muggle style. Per, on the other hand, was still exotic in his brass-studded brown leather pants, and the raven feathers braided in his hair. People looked at him and Draco and assumed they were in a band. The club they were headed for had a familiar name, even though a banner across the front declared this to be the club's opening night. Harry stopped short. Ginny was dating one of the club's owners, and she, Harry, Hermione, and Ron were on the guest list. The four of them were supposed to be meeting...

...right about now. "Hey, Harry, you made it!" Ginny looked at what Harry was wearing skeptically. "You could have dressed up more." She looped her arms around Harry and Draco's necks. "Did your party end early, Malfoy?"

That was when Slytherin and Gryffindor met. Ginny glared at Pansy. Blaise glowered at Ron. Hermione grimaced at Goyle. Daphne looked uncomfortable. Per looked bored. "Let's get to the club already," he complained.

"So, what's going on?" Ginny demanded.

"Long story short, Draco and I are engaged."

For a fleeting moment, Ginny's face looked very sad, but she quickly put on a smile. "You're joking!"

"Not at all. It's official."

"Isn't that interesting, Ron," Hermione said pointedly, "Harry and Malfoy got engaged before we did."

Ron was completely oblivious. "Hmm, yeah. Harry's always been on the impulsive side. Congrats, mate."

Per huffed loudly. "The club. Are we going."

"Are you Malfoy's cousin or something?" Ginny asked the Swede. Per's eyes started glowing red.

"Er, ah, let's go in, yeah?" Harry said. The music in the club was too loud for much conversation. _Doosh-doosh-doosh-doosh_. When Draco pulled Harry onto the dance floor, Harry was less than enthusiastic at first. Dancing was never one of his strong suits. Looking around, Harry noticed that 'dancing' in this place consisted of one grinding one's pelvis against one's partner. _That_ he could do, with pleasure. A little too much, really. Moving that way against Draco while he was dressed that way put them both in such a state, they ended up in a dark corner behind a banquette with their hands down each other's trousers, frantically jacking each other off.

Afterwards, legs wobbly, Harry needed to sit at their table, which afforded him an excellent view of Per sitting on Goyle's lap and... _bloody hell_. There were some things Harry just did not want to see. They really ought to have been doing that behind a banquette like decent folk. Ginny was watching in horrified fascination, and Pansy was giggling as she downed another drink. Pansy hugged Draco hard when he sat next to her. Another round of drinks arrived, and Pansy raised both of her glasses. "To gay men and the women who are in love with them!" Ginny joined in the toast.

Ron and Hermione were arguing on the dance floor. Blaise was dancing with two scantily-clad women at the same time. Daphne was sitting at the bar, showing off her legs. Pansy disappeared into the men's restroom for a while and came back with white powder lining her nostrils. A little later, Blaise led the two women to the men's; Harry was beginning to get curious about what the attraction was. Pansy was leaning on Harry, sloshing her martini. "You better make him happy, you bastard. Do you have any idea how lucky you are?" She started crying on his shoulder. Shortly after that, she slumped face-down on the table. Draco shook her, but she didn't respond.

Goyle slung her over his shoulder. "It's time for Pansy to go home."

"What's wrong with her?" Draco was wide-eyed with anxiety.

"This is just what she does."

"Since when?" Draco demanded. "She never used to be like that."

Goyle gave Draco a half-exasperated, half-sympathetic look. "You've barely seen her the last two years. People change." He headed for the exit. Per followed, wiggling his little leather-clad rump.

Draco sat staring glumly down at the shiny, new table-top. "Do you want to go?" Harry asked.

"I think so." Hermione and Ron were making up at the table, while Ginny was engaged in a heavy snogging session with a man in a shark-skin suit. Harry didn't bother with goodbyes, as they all seemed to be having too much fun to be interrupted. They took the subway toward home. Draco rested his head on Harry's chest on the train. "Do you think I helped Pansy get that way? I put her through a lot."

"There's no way of knowing, and you shouldn't torture yourself thinking like that. You two were just children. We all were. We were all stupid and and we all made a lot of mistakes."

"I'm afraid to go home. Father will be there."

"I know. I'm a little frightened, myself. But we've got to get it over with." Off the train, up out of the station and onto the street. A few blocks, and they were back at 12 Grimmauld Place. As soon as they entered, Draco _Accio'd _Harry's wand for him. They crept as quietly as they could down the hallway. There was no sign of Lucius, but there were boxes and odds and ends strewn all over the house that hadn't been there when they had left for the party.

Harry picked up a thick stack of photographs that lay on the coffee table. On top was a photo labeled 'Draco Malfoy b. June 5, 1980.' A naked, wet baby not much bigger than a kidney bean lay on the bosom of Narcissa, who looked exhausted but happy. Another was labelled 'Draco's Baptism June 10, 1980,' and showed Narcissa holding the same tiny baby in be-ribboned baptismal cap and gown. Underneath that was a photo of a gray-eyed, chubby-cheeked toddler learning to levitate on a toy broomstick; a fat woman in a starched pinafore caught the boy when he started bouncing up and down with excitement.

Draco playing in the snow. Splashing in a pool. Sitting on a runty pegasus at a birthday party. Getting on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, doubt his eyes as he turned for one last look at the photographer. At the Yule Ball, with Parkinson and Goyle glaring at each other. Holding up his O.W.L. results with a smug look. And many, many more. It must have been every photograph of Draco that the Malfoys had.

"What's going on here?" Harry asked. Looking up from a photo of Draco hugging a large, wiry-haired dog, he saw his fiance's face, and it wasn't good at all. Draco was staring at a piece of parchment, his hand over his mouth and his eyes raw with hurt. Harry grabbed the parchment. '_This is everything of yours that was in Malfoy Manor. Narcissa and I no longer have a son, so we do not need any of this.' _Harry swore, long and volubly. "Draco..." He tried to put an arm around his fiance.

Draco shrugged Harry off. "Stop it, Potter."

"This is wrong. Your father-"

"_Fuck off,"_ Draco snarled.

"Draco-"

"_Get away from me_."

"Wha-" Harry tried to grab Draco by one arm and got an elbow in the face. "Stop it!"

"_Make m_e." Draco started kicking and slapping, coming after Harry when he tried to back away "I fucking hate you! Such a big damn hero, aren't you."

"Stop-"

"Hit me! You know you want to! Just fucking hit me already!"

"_Incarcerous._" Ropes bound Draco, and Harry took him by the shoulders, gently easing him down to the floor. He managed to only get kicked twice while removing the giant boots. He sat on the couch, pretending to read the _Daily Prophet _as he watched Draco thrash and curse out of the corner of his eye. At about three in the morning, Draco ran out of energy. Harry undid the _Incarcerous_. Draco sat on the floor, sweaty and panting as he glared at Harry. "You're a bastard, Potter."

"I know."

Draco crawled to the couch and into Harry's lap, falling into a deep sleep.

...

Shortly after dawn, Harry woke with a crick in his neck from sleeping sitting up on the couch. His fiance was starting to stir, his blue, black, and white blond hair moving across Harry's lap. "Are you all right, Draco?"

"I'm sorry." Draco twined his arms around Harry's waist. "I didn't mean..."

"I know." Harry stroked the smooth skin of Draco's back. He thought back to the photos he'd looked at last night. "Did you know that you never talk about your childhood?"

"Neither do you."

"Good point." Harry pondered what to say. Most of his childhood had gone undocumented. The Dursleys wouldn't have wasted good film on him. "They used to lock me in a cupboard under the stairs."

"I was cast out of the Garden of Eden by an angel with a flaming sword."

"And you make up for it by being a fourteen-year-old girl."

"And you make up for your childhood with sci-fi and video games."

Harry could only laugh. It was all too true.

"That's why we were made for each other, Harry. No one else would understand."

"Well, there's that. And some other things."

Draco smiled up at Harry wickedly. "You mean the sex? Because it's really, really good." His hands began to wander. "Did seeing me tied up like that do anything for you?"

"A bit. I was hoping we could try it again sometime when you were less inclined to kick me in the crotch."

"Harry? Malfoy?" Hermione's voice drifted up from the kitchen.

Draco groaned and pressed his face against Harry's thighs. "Too bloody early for a social visit."

She found them on the couch. Still in a fuzzy bathrobe, and with uncombed hair, Hermione flourished a crisp, new copy of the _Daily Prophet_. 'MALFOY MUTINY!' the headlined screamed, just above a photo of Harry and Draco kissing on the bandstand. Underneath the picture was a smaller headline: 'Scandalous Youth Rebellion, or the Triumph of True Love?'

Harry snatched it from her hands. He and Draco bonked heads trying to read it at the same time.

"_Some guests were shocked, and others delighted, by the spectacle they witnessed at what was supposed to be a party to announce the betrothal of Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass. Instead, the young Malfoy, wearing a provocative Mugglish get-up, proposed marriage to the most famous wizard of the modern era, Harry Potter. Potter accepted. The two former rivals showed every evidence of being madly in love with each other._

_This flies in the face of the centuries of Pure-blood tradition of marriages arranged for family standing and preservation of pure bloodlines. Is this a good thing, or a bad thing? We asked several of the party-goers._

_Blaise Zabini, age 20: 'It's about time that Pure-bloods left the Middle Ages.'_

_Mrs. Ernestine Huffington, age 52: "With this sort of thing happening, soon there will be no Pure-bloods at all. If young Pure-bloods like Draco refuse to do their duty, the wizard race will become nothing but a bunch of mongrels.'_

_Mrs. Euphemia Ruggles, 95: "Why, everyone knew my dear departed Jameson had an eye for the chaps. We still had two beautiful babies. Children these days just don't understand the concept of personal sacrifice for the greater good_.'"

Harry skimmed down a bit until he came to a tiny article at the bottom. Not Enough Wizard Babies had released a statement: _"There is a reason that the Wizard Anglican Church, unlike some upstart religions, refuses to marry man to man and woman to woman. That reason is the very survival of our kind. It's elementary mathematics: a wizard plus a wizard equals no babies and a witch plus a witch equals no babies." _

Hermione cleared some boxes off the recliner."You just can't stop making headlines, can you, Harry?"

"Actually, it's _my_ headline," Draco said.

Hermione fumbled and tipped a box over. "What on earth is all of this?"

"Oh, those are all the things I borrowed from Pansy when we were at school," Draco replied.

Hermione picked up bottles of glittery nail polish, purple and fuchsia quills, a silver belly-chain, magazines full of pictures of shirtless quidditch players, a wind-up cat that meowed, and eye-liner pencils worn down to nubs. "You do realize that using the word 'borrow' implies that you're going to return them, right? It's not actually a synonym for 'steal'."

"I could still return it all."

"Hmm. I don't think Parkinson would have much use for this any more." Hermione held up a small blue angora cardigan with pearl buttons. "You used to wear that first year."

"You remember that?" Draco seemed pleased.

"A boy wearing _this_? How could I forget? You'd have been murdered for it in a Muggle school."

"I was so sad when I got too tall to wear Pansy's things. Father wouldn't let me buy my own because he thought it was peculiar."

Harry creased his forehead. "So let me get this straight. A man who sports a ribbon in his hair and wears capes in the summertime objects to angora cardigans as unmanly? Or are they just too Mugglish?"

Kreacher poked his beaky nose in. "There is a firecall for Harry and Master Draco." At the very same moment, the phone rang, and something was dropped through the mail flap. A house elf Harry had never seen before apparated in, carrying a gaudy flower arrangement.

"Looks like everyone else has read the paper, too," Hermione said. She answered the phone, Draco took the firecall, and Harry went to pick up what came through the flap. As he picked it up, five more envelopes dropped through. He opened the first one up. "_I have lost all respect for you, Harry Potter. You are marrying one of the lowest pieces of-" _He showed it to Hermione, then obliterated it with his wand. A few moments later, Draco came back from the kitchen, burbling happily about the people who had wished him well.

"Why don't you shower and change before Teddy gets here?" Harry suggested. "You've got kohl all the way down to your chin." Draco smiled at the mention of Teddy and trotted upstairs.

"We can't let Draco see or hear anything like that. Not after this." Harry handed Lucius' note to Hermione, then showed her the photographs.

"Lucius wants to erase his only child from his life for not wanting to marry someone he doesn't love? How could someone do that!" Hermione hissed. "It's vile!"

"It's_ Lucius_. Draco was in a bad way when he read it. The hell that man has put him through, and it still absolutely devastated him."

"Children always love their parents, no matter how horrid and undeserving those parents may be. It's so sad sometimes."

Andromeda showed up then with Teddy, also holding the day's paper. "Congratulations, Harry, though your marrying into the Malfoy clan does have me questioning your sanity."

"There is another firecall for Harry and Master Draco," Kreacher announced. The phone rang again. Envelopes were piling up in front of the door, and flower arrangements were proliferating.

When Draco came downstairs in his version of Sunday casual, he readily agreed to Harry's suggestion that he take Teddy to a park to play. Hermione shook her head as she watched him leave. "Malfoy's wearing bunny slippers. _Bunny slippers_. "

"Teddy's two, Draco's five. Or fourteen. It depends on his mood." That was when the howler flew in, hovering threateningly mere inches from Harry's face. The red envelope was pulsing, ready to explode any minute.

"This is going to be awful." Hermione tapped it open with her wand, and the amplified voice nearly blew their eyebrows off.

"ROT IN HELL, MALFOY-LOVING SCUM."

"At least it was short," Harry sighed.

Andromeda answered another phone call. Hermione gathered up more letters. Harry went to see someone about being temporarily removed from the Floo Network.

NOVEMBER 12, 2000

Harry had taken the day off of work. He went out to pick up burgers, and also got a bottle of champagne. Draco was still upset over his father, and Harry knew some bubbly would cheer him up. He passed a street vendor selling tee shirts, and he bought one he thought Draco would like, pink with a glittery decal of a winged kitten on it. It could replace the unicorn shirt that Draco had lost somewhere.

"Where are you, beautiful?" Harry called as he walked down the hall. He was not prepared for the sight of Lucius standing in front of his couch. Without thinking, Harry hurled the bottle of champagne at the older man's head. Lucius ducked, and the bottled shattered spectacularly on the wall. Harry grabbed anything close at hand and started throwing. A Dr. Who videotape. A pillow. A painting of dogs playing Wizard's Chess that Draco had gotten for his birthday. A platform boot with skull buckles. The blue angora cardigan. Nothing hit Lucius except the cardigan, which snagged on his heavy gold necklace. Harry got the distinct feeling his future father-in-law was very amused, and it enraged him more.

Harry was picking up a box full of books to throw when Narcissa walked into the room carrying a tea tray. "What on earth is going on?" she asked. Draco was right behind her.

Harry used the pretext of giving Draco the shirt to get close and raise a questioning eyebrow. Draco gave him a hug and whispered in his ear, "She threatened to leave him." He pulled the shirt on and looked down at the kitten decal happily. Lucius muttered and rolled his eyes.

Narcissa sat down and patted the couch beside her. "Come here, Harry. You two can keep all those pictures. I'll just get more prints made. And I thought you two might want some more family pictures, as you're going to be starting a family of your own." Startled, Harry looked at Draco, who just shrugged. Narcissa set a thick, velvet-covered photo album in Harry's lap. "I've already put all the loose pictures back in."

Narcissa obviously expected Harry to look, so he lifted the brass-bound cover of the album. The first few photos were of Lucius and Narcissa looking amazingly young in their betrothal and wedding pictures. Narcissa was clearly besotted with her handsome young groom, but Lucius' eyes were distant. Harry wondered who Lucius might be longing for in those pictures.

There followed a picture of a baby that Harry assumed was Draco, but then he noticed it was labeled 'Rosamunde Malfoy b. 12 February 1976'. "She didn't live, poor little Rosie," Narcissa said. Next was another newborn. 'Orion Malfoy b. 29 January 1977.' Then twins: 'Florimunda and Serenissima Malfoy b. 2 March 1978'. A far-too-tiny infant being cradled by a haunted-eyed Narcissa: 'Agrippa Malfoy b. 19 March 1979.'

"We had a run of bad luck before I got my dear boy." Narcissa pulled Draco, who was sitting on the other side of her, into a one-armed hug. She flipped through the rest of the pages of the book, telling the stories behind the pictures. The under-sized pegasus had been at Draco's fifth birthday party, which had also featured acrobatically trained monkeys and a dancing Great Dane in a ruffled collar. In the background of the photo, shockingly tiny versions of Crabbe and Goyle could be spotted dragging their fingers through the frosting of the chocolate cake that was decorated with five Teddy-bear shaped candles.

The last photo of the book was a portrait of Draco in his school robes at the beginning of sixth year. He was turned to the right edge of the photo, gazing sidelong at the viewer. Everything was there, the fear, the guilt, if one only knew to look. Harry closed the cover on that one quickly. "You two can start your own book now," Narcissa said. "I have pictures of your engagement, and we can hire the best photographer for the wedding, and then when you become parents-"

Harry looked at Draco again, but the blond just mouthed, "Don't know."

"Narcissa, the boys have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself! There's a young Pure-blood widow whose husband ran up a gambling debt with goblins before he died. Now the goblins are expecting her to pay, and they can get quite nasty. She would be willing to bear your child, Draco, if your father pays off the debt. It would be a boy with the Malfoy name, and you and Harry will raise him together."

"Her family is not nearly as good as the Greengrasses," Lucius said.

"But we will still have an heir and and grandchild," Narcissa replied, slanting her eyes at Lucius. "So, boys, what do you think?"

"That's a lot to take in," Harry said.

"But you'll think about it?" Narcissa asked, hopeful.

Harry and Draco looked at each other again and said simultaneously, "Of course." Dinner together with Lucius and Narcissa gave Harry plenty of time to ponder. He wondered if he would have better insight of the peculiar dynamics of the parent/child relationship he was observing if his own parents were still alive. Draco put so much effort into pushing his father away, but he still wanted Lucius to love him. Draco felt smothered by Narcissa, but at the same time he still wanted to be her little boy. It was nothing but messy contradiction. And now Narcissa was most certainly going to persuade Draco to add a new generation to the morass. Andromeda was right; Harry must a bit soft in the head to be getting involved with _this_ family.

Later, Harry and Draco laid together on the couch, watching 'The Thing.' "It can't have been easy at all, growing up with a father like Lucius," Harry ventured.

"No. But his father was worse. Old Abraxas would pinch me hard enough to bruise when I was little just because he thought it was funny when I cried. I threw a party when he died and went to his funeral drunk. I got a beating for getting sick on the coffin." Draco turned so he could look Harry in the eye. "I'm pretty sure I can do better than them both."

NOVEMBER 13, 2000

"It wouldn't be until after we get married," Draco said, "My mother wants a grandchild, but only in the proper order."

"Wizards doing articificial insemination. The world has gone all-topsy turvy on me."

"And you're so good at being a dad. And I can learn, too. I mean, I like Teddy a lot. But we could get a nanny, too." The two were having breakfast together. This morning, Draco had actually produced something edible. Miracles really did happen.

"The house next door is up for sale," Harry said as he scanned a Muggle newspaper.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"It's the same size as this one."

"But I'm talking about having a baby." Draco was looking sulky.

"We could knock down a few walls, and have a much bigger place."

Draco gave him an icy glare. "Very interesting."

"More storage so I don't have to keep tripping over your things. Some more rooms. Maybe a formal dining room." Harry was beginning to worry about frostbite. "Oh, and a nursery." Draco actually squealed with excitement. "You know, when you do things like that, I'm not really sure that you're unable to carry this child yourself."

"I'd have to be self-fertilizing."

Harry put the paper down. He had come decided last night to just give in and say yes to the baby. He knew that standing up to both Narcissa and Draco would be impossible. "You do realize that having a child will put an end to us having spontaneous sex in every part of the house."

"So we'd better make the most of it now. We still haven't done it here in the kitchen." Draco started climbing up on the table.

Green flames whooshed up in the fireplace. "Sorry, Harry," Hermione said, "I've got special permission to have a temporary Floo connection to your place." She was in her work clothes, and momentarily distracted by the sight of Draco on the table top, wearing no trousers with his sweater and bikini briefs. "Hmm. A lumpy jumper with a crude rendering of the Slytherin crest. It looks like Molly has accepted you."

"He's in the process of being assimilated into the Weasley Borg. What is it, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"First of all, where's Kreacher? I've got good news for him." The house elf appeared, looking suspicious. Hermione handed him a rolled up parchment. Kreacher undid the official Ministry seal and scanned it. He let out a happy, froggy whoop and apparated way.

The scroll hit the floor and rolled to Harry's feet. "I believe what he was so happy about was the second paragraph," Hermione said.

At the top of the page, it read, 'Declaration of the Rights of House Elves.' The second paragraph said: "House elves are free to marry mates of their choice at the time of their choosing, and are to be granted a month's honeymoon period."

"I guess I'll see Kreacher in a month, then," Harry said.

"But I'm also here with some less than wonderful news," Hermione continued. "Not Enough Wizard Babies tried to de-gay Goyle last night, and the results weren't pretty. I've got to stop at St. Mungo's anyway, to give him some news about the investigation. Would you like to come with, Malfoy?"

...

The first thing Harry saw in the private room was Per sitting on the floor with rune-carved wooden discs spread out before him, wearing only a loin-cloth. He was chanting in a language Harry didn't recognize. He opened his eyes briefly; they were the red of lambent coals. His elaborate knotwork tattoos almost made it look like he was wearing a shirt.

Goyle was laying across three beds pushed together. His legs had been turned into those of a troll. The blanket was over-sized, but still not big enough to cover all the green, lumpy skin. Draco sat by the bed and took Goyle's hand. "How are you, Greg?" Harry was pleased at how Draco had pulled himself together; he'd been half-hysterical on the way to St. Mungo's.

"I can't walk. There's too much of a mismatch between my legs and the rest of me."

"The Ministry has almost everyone responsible in custody, Goyle," Hermione said, "But I have some bad news for you. One of them was your father. He's going back to Azkaban. I'm sorry."

Goyle stared up at the ceiling stonily. "My father can go to hell. I hope Mum divorces him again."

That was when Pansy showed up. She surprised Harry with a hug; she smelled of vodka already. She threw herself between Draco and Goyle, ending up on Draco's lap. "You have to get better soon so I have someone to go clubbing with, Greggy!" She smooched him on both cheeks, eliciting a wan smile.

Blaise showed up carrying chocolates, and Millicent Bulstrode brought a basket full of tempting pastries that had been baked at her inn. Daphne Greengrass smuggled in beer. Hermione left, as she had many more Declarations to deliver to house elves, but Harry stayed, watching how much fun Draco was having with his friends.

On the way home, Harry said, "You really ought to spend more time with them. They're not my favorite people in the world, but it's obvious that they care about you."

"I think Pansy would be better off without me," Draco said in a melancholy tone.

"Her drinking problem got bad when you weren't in her life. Maybe she needs you."

Draco was thoughtfully quiet for a while. "Maybe I could give all the things I borrowed back to her for her birthday."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure she'd like to get her training bra back. Why did you have that, anyway?"

"It was good for slinging rocks. Percy Weasley _really _annoyed me back in school. I once had to spend a detention spreading dragon manure around the greenhouse because he caught me sliding down a banister."

"Oh, it was_ you _that nearly put his eye out. No one ever got punished for that because there were so many possible culprits."

They stopped in a Tesco's for some something to make for dinner, and Draco turned the shopping trip into a teasing session, alarming the other shoppers with a demonstration of an unusual skill on a cucumber, among other things. By the time they got home, Harry was in such a lather that he shoved Draco face first against the wall just inside the front door. Harry Accio'd lube and a condom before he yanked both of their jeans down. "You realize that we'll never be allowed to shop there again, right?" he said huskily into one pierced ear.

"Completely worth it," Draco gasped out as Harry started thrusting into him.

They couldn't bring themselves to stop when the mail flap opened, even thought they knew that whoever made the delivery would be able to hear them panting and moaning. A flash and an ear-shattering explosion got their attention.

"Who sent a fucking Wart Bomb?" Draco looked at his hands and arms, which were so thick with warts, they resembled tree bark. He glanced into the mirror over the side table. "And my face!"

"And our bottoms. Look." Harry pointed to where some words in glittering red cursive hung in the air: 'With Love, Astoria Greengrass.'

"There goes my modeling career," Draco groaned. "And I already paid for the portfolio."

"Come on, let's get back to St. Mungo's."


	5. Chapter 5

Warning: explicit m/m sex.

So, it took me a_ long _time to finish this up. I've been going through major anxiety/depression/confidence issues, and it's really put a damper on my ability to write, and to respond to reviews etc. But I did it. I can't say when I'll be writing more. I don't have any idea when it won't be terribly difficult for me.

...

NOVEMBER 13, 2000

They finally got back from St. Mungo's after ten o'clock that night. The healing facility had run out of wart removing potions, due to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes coming out with a new line of products. When a healer proposed using something that looked like a cheese-grater, Draco, who was afflicted all over his privates, had nearly fainted.

While they waited for a cure, healers from all over St. Mungo's came to inspect them. There were even photographs taken. Harry couldn't understand why, as there was nothing at all exotic about a Weasley Wart Bomb, even a new and improved one. When he heard some healers giggling out in the hall, he figured it out: the Wart Bomb only affected exposed skin, and it was obvious from the pattern of the warts what he and Draco had been doing when the Bomb went off. There were even perfect wart-free hand prints on Draco's hips.

Pansy, who hadn't left the hospital yet, dropped in for a visit. She grimaced at the sight of the two of them. "This may be the first time in eight years that I've been able to look at you without feeling the urge to climb you like a tree," she told Draco. "Poor Tori. Whatever your father did to her, it's really scrambled her brains. Let me see those handprints everyone's been talking about."

Finally, George sent over some antidote that he had at the shop. It burned like hell, especially on more sensitive parts, but the two men left St. Mungo's with their skin looking even better than it had before the Bomb. Harry was completely free of spots for the first time since he was thirteen.

When they arrived back home, Harry noticed there was a new floral arrangement in the hall, but he got distracted by the mail. Draco's gasp got his attention. Harry took the small white card that had been attached to the flowers from his nerveless hand. 'All Malfoys should die. Potter is sleeping with the enemy, and he will pay.' The flowers were not the usual sort found in a bouquet; they had giant thorns on the stems that oozed a nasty-looking green sap. "These people are unbelievable!" Harry Vanished the entire arrangement, vase and all.

" 'These people'? There have been more like this?"

"No."

"I can tell you're lying to me." Draco wrapped his arms around himself. "How many more?"

"Don't do this do yourself."

"How many?"

"More than ten."

"How many more? I'll just keep asking. You might as well just tell me."

"Why do you need to know?"

Draco stared at Harry for a long moment, his face a map of hurt. "They hate you because of me. Everyone used to love you."

"Everyone thought they _had_ to love me because I defeated Voldemort." Draco still flinched at the name. "Before that, plenty of people disliked me. So things are just returning to normal." Harry put his arms around Draco and felt the tension vibrating in his muscles. He stroked Draco's back until his body relaxed against his own. "We're in this together, no matter what. A person can be awfully brave, hiding behind a quill. I'm way too attached to you to be frightened off that easily."

Draco managed a small laugh. "You poor sod."

NOVEMBER 15, 2000

Harry brought the more threatening messages to work with him, as there were Ministry employees who might be able to tell who sent them. When he got home, Draco greeted him at the door, gleefully waving a zippered leather case. "My portfolio came today!" They sat on the couch to look at the photos. Harry had seen the clothes laying strewn around the spare bedroom, things that Draco assured him were 'fashion forward,' whatever that meant. They were 'borrowed' from a twenty-one-year aspiring designer who, Harry was sure, was hoping to get some... gratitude from Draco.

The photos were in black and white, playing up the contrast between Draco's pale skin and the dark clothing. A sweater that was mostly holes, a kilt with metal fittings, the pleather trousers, an ankle length leather trench coat worn with nothing underneath (one leg drawn up for modesty), a very complicated waistcoat with buckles. Draco seemed to have a knack for arranging his long, elegant limbs in esthetically pleasing ways.

"I showed Ginny already. She's says the pictures are very _haute couture_ and erotic at the same time."

Harry was studying a shot of Draco wearing just eye-liner and a pair of armor-plated leather gloves, hands strategically placed. He was giving the camera his haughtiest Malfoy expression. "You just can't keep your clothes on, can you?"

"You don't like it?"

"I didn't say that. Do you still have those gloves?"

...

"I don't think I can give the gloves back, not in that condition."

"As if you were going to, anyway." Harry stretched out on the mattress; what they had been doing had given him a bit of a kink in his back.

"Are you calling me a thief?" Draco teased, flopping across Harry's bare chest.

"I think you're part magpie." Harry played with the rings in Draco's ear. "It's an oddly lovable trait."

Draco slanted his silver eyes up at Harry. "When did you fall in love with me?"

"Mmm... That first morning with the Hello Kitty pants, when you gave me that amazing smile. That's when I knew that there was so much more to you that what I'd seen when we were in school. I had to find out what it was."

"Do you want to know when I fell in love with you?"

"Of course."

"The first time we played against each other at Quidditch."

Harry laughed. "You were twelve! I was twelve!"

"So? It's true."

"And you were so awful to me all those years!"

"You already hated me. Your friends hated me. I'd already called Granger... that name. My friends hated you and your friends. I had a social position to maintain. It was complicated. And it all looks so bloody stupid now, doesn't it?"

"To say the least. Oh, and there's the matter of you trying to _kill_ me."

"You haven't ever been so angry at someone you loved that you wanted to kill them?"

Harry thought back to when Hermione had broken his wand. "I guess I have."

"When I saw you in the mirror, for a split second I let myself hope that you'd see that I needed saving. You were always rescuing people, so why not me, too? But the look on your face... you just looked so triumphant. You didn't want to save me, you wanted to _get_ me. At that moment, you'd have happily seen me in Azkaban. The only thing I could do was lash out."

"I'm so sorry, Draco. I wish I could change it."

"But if I hadn't been so horrible to you and your friends, you wouldn't have hated me. So it was my own fault. And I have something to confess. The only creature I ever successfully Avada'd was a housefly." Draco sat up and hugged his knees. "Bellatrix tried to teach me. She wanted me to kill some mangy old dog that had the misfortune to wander too close to the Manor, and she beat me when I wouldn't do it." His shoulders tightened: the body remembering pain. "Mother nearly Avada'd _her_ when she caught her hitting me with a damned frying pan. I don't even know where Bella got a frying pan. It's not as if she had a clue as to where the kitchens were."

"You know how people liked to compare how fucked up their families are? You win every time." Harry laid a hand on Draco's back, feeling it move with weak, rueful laughter.

"Mother did the best she could, under the circumstances." Draco was quiet for a moment. "We'll do better, won't we?"

"Of course." There was a part of Harry that was frightened by the thought of having a family of his own, that worried that the way he'd been raised by the Dursleys had irreparably damaged him. But he had the Weasleys in his life to show him how it should be done. "We'll muddle through somehow."

NOVEMBER 17, 2000

Clubbing wasn't Harry's favorite activity, but Draco loved to dance and be seen, especially wearing his portfolio clothes. Tonight, he'd donned a long-sleeved, button-down shirt made of sheer black material, and trousers with zippers that didn't zip to anything. Harry was able to sit back and watch while Draco danced with Pansy. Pansy was already drunk, and had her hands on Draco's rear end while they were grinding.

By the time Harry noticed the man making a bee-line for Draco, it was too late. Harry recognized the haggard face: Van McCollough was often at the Ministry begging for some word of his wife, who had last been seen as a prisoner in Malfoy Manor. The crowd was too thick for Harry to push through quickly. Whatever McCollough said to Draco, it made Pansy spring at him with clawed fingers. The man knocked the petite girl out of the way easily. He grabbed Draco by the arm and shouted right into his ear until Harry was able to pull him away. McCollough was crazed-looking, face contorting and spittle flying as he turned on Harry. "_How can you even bring yourself to touch him? He is corruption, he is lies, he is filth_!" Bouncers took him from Harry.

That was when Harry realized that Draco was gone.

NOVEMBER 18, 2000

Harry opened his blood-shot eyes. "Ron?" he groaned.

"You're in bed late. And why is Parkinson sleeping on your couch? Are you opening a shelter for stray Slytherins?"

Not wanting to get into a discussion about the previous night, Harry asked, "What do you want?"

"Oh, um..." Ron fished a jeweler's box out of a pocket, flipped it open, and held it out to Harry.

Harry scowled at the tiny diamond set in the gold ring. "I'm taken, sorry."

"For Hermione, idiot."

"Mmph."

"Do you think she'll like it? It's so small."

"That's an awfully personal matter."

"_The diamond_."

"I don't think Hermione really cares. She wants _you_, for some mysterious reason."

"Where's Malfoy?"

"Out."

"You're in a mood today. I'll get going." Ron apparated away.

Harry got up and padded all through the house. Draco was nowhere to be found. Harry felt sick. He and Pansy had gone looking for him until five in the morning. That bar in Soho, the Angry Troll, Zabini's flat... Everywhere they could think of.

Except for a particular building in Mayfair.

NOVEMBER 24. 2000

There was no sign of Draco, not one word. As the days passed, Harry's worry turned to suspicion, which turned to anger, which turned to simmering rage. The frantic knocking on the front door came just after midnight, loud enough to wake Harry up as he slept fitfully in the bedroom. He ran downstairs and threw open the door, wand at the ready.

"Why is the house warded?" Draco's black eye and bloody nose were very visible under the streetlights.

"_How could you_!"

"It's not-"

"_I'm so stupid, letting myself trust you_!"

"Just let me ex-"

"_I can't take this, Draco. It's too hard. If this is what it's going to be like, I don't want to love you. It hurts too fucking much_." Harry slammed the door shut, cast a muting spell, and pounded up the stairs to the third floor, into the room where Buckbeak was once hidden. He curled up and hugged his knees, welcoming the discomfort of the gouged wooden floor. Harry's friends had disapproved of how circumscribed his life had been before Draco. But it was for the best, Harry saw now. His world had been too small to hurt him then.

NOVEMBER 27, 2000

There was no way Harry could drag himself into work. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. He had no idea what he was going to do with the house at 11 Grimmauld Place, which he had signed the papers on just before Draco had vanished. Perhaps he could rent it out to Pansy, who'd been booted out of her parents' home for being too wild. She was always at Harry's, anyway, hoping for news of the love of her life and drinking herself unconscious on the couch. She was there so much, she and Ginny were actually becoming pals. Harry was pretty sure that next would come human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, and mass hysteria.

Right now, the two of them were fussing over Harry, trying to get him to consume something more than black coffee. Pansy's cooking was actually worse than Draco's. A Remedial Cooking for Slytherins class was sorely needed at Hogwarts. "Open up your window, an owl is coming," Ginny coaxed, in the manner of countless generations of witch mothers. She waved a forkful of undercooked egg at him.

"I'm not a bloody infant."

"You pout like one. Come on, you have to eat."

"Offer me something that's actually fit for human consumption, and I will."

The two girls exchanged exasperated looks. "Eat something, or I'll tell Ron to set you up with Doug Boterill again." Harry's lips stayed sealed. "_Lemon yellow sweater vest_." That worked. Harry accepted the forkful, almost gagging at the sliminess.

That was when flames whooshed up in the fireplace. Harry squinted at the face he was seeing. "_Regina Higgenbotham_?"

Regina grimaced at Harry. "I gave Malfoy the black eye and the bloody nose. Would you let him come home now? I respect him for having the guts to come and talk to me about what happened to my father, but that doesn't mean I want to look at his face while I'm eating brunch."

...

Mercifully, Ginny and Pansy left Harry alone. They were going shopping for frocks together or something girly like that. After removing all the wards around the house, Harry took a quick shower, as he hadn't bathed since Draco had disappeared. He had just put on a pair of boxers when he heard a _crack_ downstairs. He half-ran, half-fell down to the hallway. Draco was there, head high, giving Harry a withering look.

"Draco, I'm so sorry! When I thought you went back to Robert it just drove me _mad_. I thought I couldn't bear it. Please, please forgive me." Draco was glaring at him so intensely that Harry was expecting a torrent of Malfoyesque venom. He braced himself for a Lucius-like level of invective. Instead, Draco burst into tears. "Oh, _fuck me_. Now I really feel like a git."

"You should," Draco sobbed. Harry tried to hug Draco, but he pulled away. "I don't think I can be with someone who doesn't trust me." He turned and ran down the hall and out to the street, slamming the front door behind him. Harry cursed and went after him.

It wasn't until he was out in the middle of the street, pebbles biting into his bare feet, that Harry realized that he was nearly naked. "Draco, please, don't leave! I was so miserable when you were gone!" Two young mothers with babies in slings stopped to observe the show. Draco kept running, though he couldn't go very fast in his platform boots. Harry caught up to him and grabbed him by the arm, swinging him around. He felt the pavement scrape off the top layer of skin as he fell onto his knees. There may have been a time in his life when Harry'd felt like more of an all-around idiot, but he couldn't think of one at the moment. "What can I do to make you stay? I'll do anything, anything." A gaggle of middle-aged women paused their power-walk; what they were seeing was probably far better than the soap operas they watched.

Draco looked down at him, wiping his face with one hand. "Tell me you love me. Loud enough for everyone to hear." Presumably, by 'everyone,' Draco meant the people watching them from the sidewalk, and the man in the Aston Martin who was cursing them for being in the middle of the street.

"_I love you, Draco_."

"Tell me that you want to marry me."

"_I want to marry you_."

Draco smiled, even though his eyes were still teary. "Carry me into the house, throw me on the couch, and fuck me till I scream." This drew an _oooooooh_ from their spectators. Harry stood up, swept Draco up into his arms, and marched toward home. Up on the top step, he realized that he couldn't open the door without putting his fiance down. He stood there stupidly, trying to figure out what to do. Should he kick it open? It always looked so easy to do in films. But he was barefoot. Wonderful. His big romantic gesture had turned awkward.

Draco giggled in Harry's ear and opened the door himself. Down the hall and into the old dining room, and Harry tossed his lover down on the couch. He pulled off the platform boots and the zipper trousers, but left the shirt on. And then he fulfilled the last of Draco's demands, pounding into him in exactly the manner that Harry knew would make him go off like a rocket. After Draco came (and he did, indeed, scream), Harry moved up into a sitting position, taking Draco with him. He gripped his lover's hips firmly and moved Draco up and down on his lubed-up cock, leaning back so he could enjoy the view. It didn't take long for Draco to get hard again, and Harry let go of his hips and just let him ride. At his second climax, Draco threw his head back and made a lovely singing noise; it was so beautiful that Harry couldn't hold back his own orgasm any longer.

Afterwards, Harry rested on his back, happy and sticky. Draco was draped across him, propped up on his elbows. "You look awfully pleased with yourself," Harry said.

Draco's smile was sphinx-like. "I have something to confess. Can you guess what it is?"

"The mind reels."

"I never had any intention of leaving you. I just wanted you to hurt like I hurt for a little while. And I wanted to hear you beg me to come back."

Harry processed that for a few moments. "Remember when you asked if I had ever been so angry with someone I loved that I wanted to kill them?"

Draco laughed huskily. "You won' t kill me. Not after what I just did for you."

"But I'll _think_ about it. I'm thinking about it right now. Maybe something Medieval with hot coals and rats. Yeah, definitely rats." He gave Draco a playful swat on the top of his head. "So, where the hell were you all that time, and why are you all pink?"

"Mild sunburn. Until yesterday morning, I was at a place that Mother and Nanny used to take me to when I was little, a very private resort. For the purest of Purebloods only. There's a lagoon there. It's big and shallow and the most perfect blue you've ever seen. I needed to think. I was in the water so long, I'm still pruney. I didn't get in touch with you because it was something I had to decide for myself. You'd have wanted to help me, but I had to help myself."

Harry made an encouraging noise and stroked Draco's hair.

"I tried to kill myself once. It was right after _he_ made me Crucio someone for the first time. I tried to jump off the roof of the Manor, but Father stopped me. Then he put some sort of spell on me that made me unable to attempt suicide. Every time I tried, I would just pass out."

Harry felt a prickling in his eyes.

"I had sex with Robert on our second date. He was so rough, I bled. He hit me when I complained. And I fell in love right then and there, but not with him, not really. I was in love with my own death. I knew it would come at his hands if I stayed long enough. Harry, are you crying?"

"No." The thickness of his voice betrayed him.

"Liar." Draco touched the wetness on Harry's face. "I stayed away from my parents because... well, there were lots of reasons. The main one was that I didn't want them to see me trying to die. But then I started wanting to live when you started looking at me the way... the way I had always wanted you to look at me. I chose life when I chose you. The only problem is, I've been trying to run away from my past for the last two and a half years, but it keeps catching up with me. So I'm not going to run any more. Telling Regina Higgenbotham the truth about her father is just the start. But it's going to be very, very hard. I need you to be there for me."

"I'm so sorry, Draco," Harry choked out, "I'll be the best husband ever to you, I swear." Draco crooned to him and stroked his brow until his eyes stopped overflowing. "I love you so much, it frightens me sometimes."

Draco kissed him. "This is when the happily-ever-after thing starts, right?"

"Right. But this is also when we put on some clothes before Ginny and Pansy come back."

"When did you get on a first name basis with Pansy?"

"When we crawled all over London trying to find you. And she sort of lives here now. We just had sex on her bed."

"Not the first time I've done that."

Harry was admiring the view as Draco bent down to get his trousers when the thought hit him like a punch to the gut; as a damned Auror, he should have thought of it sooner. He cursed his own idiocy. "So... Draco. Robert... He hasn't shown any sign of coming after you, has he?"

"I took care of it."

So many scenarios popped into Harry's head. "How?"

"The less you know, the better." Draco laughed. "Don't look at me like that, Harry. I didn't hurt anybody."

"Did you do anything that could get you put in Azkaban?"

Draco shrugged. "What I did was in self-defense." Stepping over his boots, Draco sauntered toward the stairs. "We're going out for dinner, right? To celebrate? I'm picking out what you're going to wear."

"Just give me a moment," Harry croaked. _I'm an Auror who is marrying a wizard who has recently committed some sort of criminal magical act. _But Harry knew that, if Draco hadn't done it first, he would have done it himself, happily risking his career to protect his... lover. His boyfriend. His _fiancé_. "I have a fiancé," he said to himself. "My fiancé is _Draco Malfoy_." In the words of Ron Weasley, _bloody hell_.

DECEMBER 22, 2000

When the front door opened, Harry expected to hear the cadence of Draco's 'I'm so pleased with myself' strut. It was a tempo of footsteps that Harry had become all too familiar with the day that Draco had shoved him out of a shower room and into a Hogwarts corridor while he was wearing only a towel- just before charming the towel away. But instead of that jaunty rhythm, Harry heard BAM BAM BAM BAM. It was amazing that someone who was outweighed by most housewives could make that much noise, but, then again, the boots probably added twenty pounds.

"Was the floor bad? Is that why you're punishing it?" Harry asked. Draco planted himself right in front of him, scowling. "Why do you have a towel wrapped around your head?" Draco'd had his first magazine work today- he had been burbling happily of 'low circulation but highly influential' and 'avant garde' and lots of other things that Harry hadn't quite fully grasped.

Draco whipped the towel off. Harry's mouth fell open. His fiance's hair was dyed safety orange, which made him look even paler than he actually was, and it had been cut so that the top and sides stuck out while still being long in back: a version of what one of Ginny's American boyfriends had disparagingly called a mullet. "It's... not that bad," Harry said weakly.

"You are so terrible at telling lies! It's horrid and you know it!"

"All right, it's not your best look. But we can bleach the color out. And make it all one length."

"My hair will all be gone, and I have a very important go-see on Monday!"

"You do realize you don't actually need to work?"

"That's not the point!"

Harry wondered what, precisely, the point was. Was it so Draco could prove to himself that he wasn't as useless as Robert had always told him he was? Or perhaps it was just Draco's need to be validated for his looks, which Harry didn't find healthy. But Draco would do what he damned well pleased; Harry knew that well enough.

Pansy walked in the room, glass of firewhiskey in her hand. She screamed and dropped the glass when she saw Draco's hair. "Thanks for remaining calm, Pansy. You're my rock in this time of crisis," Harry said dryly.

"Oh, my poor baby, what have they done to your beautiful hair?" Pansy started rocking Draco in her arms like he was a frightened toddler. It was oddly Narcissa-like. _Pansy has GOT to get her own place_, Harry was thinking.

...

Harry was sitting in the lobby of St. Mungo's, reading a very old back issue of _Witch Weekly_. The feature article was 'What Will the Nineties Bring to the Wizarding World? Sybil Trelawney Sees All, Tells All!' Nothing at all about Voldemort coming back. Harry thought it was truly sad that the prediction that penguins would build their own space program in Antarctica didn't come true.

"What brings you here today, Harry?" Hermione was there in her Ministry 'go-fer' uniform, clutching several rolled up parchments.

"Things happened at Draco's first photo-shoot."

"A modeling accident? That's not really St. Mungo's bailiwick."

"They murdered his precious flaxen locks."

"I suppose he wants them thrown in Azkaban."

"He decided to grow it them back with a potion. I tried to tell him that people get hair all over, but he just insisted that Malfoys are too highly evolved for body hair.

"Hasn't he heard of hair extensions?"

"He looks like the Abominable Snowman. The only place he doesn't have fur long enough to braid is on the soles of his feet. He's supposed to be seen by _Men's Vogue_ on Monday, so he's having kittens. Here on Ministry business?"

"Yes. Interestingly, every single member of Not Enough Wizard Babies came down with giant, stinking, pus-dripping boils." Hermione smirked. "I can't imagine how that happened. Can you?"

Harry remembered the ritual Per had been conducting in Goyle's hospital room. "Nope, not a clue." The bitchy little Viking was starting to grow on Harry. One had to admire someone who would avenge his lover that way, even if said lover was _Gregory Goyle_.

"That's what I'm telling the Ministry. I interviewed all the afflicted, but there are absolutely no clues as to who did it. Not even one teensy little hint." Harry liked this duplicitous side of Hermione perhaps a little too much. "Oh, by the way, Harry, I was going to see you today, anyway. I have some really big news for Draco." Interesting. She was now on a first-name basis with her former enemy.

"What have you got to tell me?" Draco was in the lobby, fur-free and flipping around a waist-length mane of hair. "Looks good, doesn't it?"

"Huh," said Hermione, "It makes you look even more like Per." She laughed at the frigid look he gave her.

"What have you got to tell me," he repeated haughtily.

"Why don't you get Parkinson and Goyle and bring them to the Ministry? They'll want to know, too."

...

Goyle shuffled down the hallway with a walker, his legs still cumbersomely over-sized. "I hope this doesn't take too long," he groused, "Per's making me a special Christmas Eve dinner, and we're going to try the mead he's been brewing."

Pansy giggled. "Greggy, you are so domesticated."

Hermione opened a door. In front of a lit fireplace stood a tall, broad man. He turned to face Draco, Pansy and Goyle when they entered, and he grinned widely with a lopsided mouth. He leaned on a cane, and his right hand was a metal hook. "Miss me?" he said, his words slightly distorted.

Pansy squealed and threw herself on the man, nearly knocking him down. Draco wasn't far behind her. Harry glanced at Goyle, who stood frozen just inside the door; the big man's lower lip was quivering. When he noticed Harry looking at him, Goyle dashed at his damp eyes with the back of his hand and glared. Then he made his way to the other three and gave the man an awkward, macho hug.

Hermione was leaning against the doorjamb looking pleased with herself. "Where did he come from?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. "It's a bit mysterious. He says he was at a different version of Hogwarts. It was small, like it would have been back when it was first founded."

"He went back in time?"

"No, the people there spoke modern English. The theory is that some people escaped the wars by making... pocket worlds. Or alternate dimensions, in sci-fi geek language. Very small alternate dimensions. Crabbe says that when he was well enough to take walks, after half an hour he would be back at the castle, no matter what direction he went in."

"What was he doing for two and a half years?"

"Most of the time, he was kept unconscious. He was burned quite badly. They grew all of his skin back, but he still has scars."

Harry looked back over at the happy reunion. Draco was hanging on Crabbe like a backpack. "You do realize that no present I give Draco for Christmas is going to top this, right?"

DECEMBER 25, 2000

It was Christmas at the Burrow. The sitting room was packed to the rafters with people and packages. Harry opened up the gift Molly handed him, and pulled out a sweater that was striped grey and purple with a gold HP on the left breast. "I've never seen one quite like it," he said in complete honesty.

Molly had apparently been in the mood to play with color. Draco's Christmas sweater was orange with yellow stripes, with DM worked in green. Fleur pasted on a fake smile and pulled on her pink-with-purple-hearts jumper. "Móm should have given Malfoy _that_ one," Ron said _sotto voce_.

"Next Christmas, it won't be so crowded," Arthur said, "Molly has decided we need to expand the Burrow."

Molly smiled. "We're adding a dining room, and making this room twice as big."

"That's wonderful!" Harry meant it whole-heartedly. Not just because gatherings at the Weasleys would be more comfortable, but also because Molly had healed enough to allow her home to be altered. But the less-crowded aspect was good, too. Harry was nursing a black eye from Teddy accidentally kicking him when Draco had been trying to keep the curious tot from ripping out his bridge piercing.

"So, Harry, is it true that Crabbe is staying with you?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. He's staying on the ground floor of number 11. Pansy's just upstairs to give him a hand if he needs it. So she's out of our hair and our firewhiskey."

"Why isn't he with his parents?" Molly asked, "You'd think they'd be so overjoyed at having him back that they'd want him living with them." No one had to have the subtext of that statement spelled out to them.

Hermione shook her head grimly. "Those two are too sunk into their shared madness. They won't believe it's him. They think it's all a part of the conspiracy against them." Molly made a sad noise.

"Harry, I'm thinking that you've got a... what do you call it when someone gets hot and bothered over odd things?" Ron asked.

"A fetish," said Ginny.

Molly turned slightly pink. "Is this a conversation to have in front of children?"

"Yeah, I think you've got some sort of Slytherin fetish," Ron said. "You've got three of them living on your property now."

"Well, only one Slytherin slithers into my bed." Draco smirked at Harry's witticism.

Molly jumped up. "It's almost time for Celestina Warbeck on the wireless!" She turned the wireless on unnecessarily loud as a torch song started.

"My, this music is so romantic isn't it?" Draco drawled, smirking at Ron. "It would be a perfect moment for someone to propose, don't you think?"

"Be nice, Draco," Harry whispered as he repressed a snicker.

"You and Harry have already announced your engagement," Ron snapped at Draco. Hermione pressed her lips together and pretended to be very, very interested in the Singing Sorceress.

FEBRUARY 22, 2001

"You're serious? Parkinson just up and married Crabbe?" Ginny was incredulous. "I can't believe a female human actually wants to be with _him_ of her free will. Are you sure he didn't bewitch her?"

Harry laughed. "No, she really does care for him. They've got a flat behind a shop in Diagon Alley. Draco says she doesn't drink as much, now that she feels like someone needs her. I guess there really is someone for everyone."

"You hear that, Ginny?" Ron said. "Some_one_. Not somefive, someten, sometwenty-"

"So _Vincent Crabbe _got married before you and Hermione," Ginny interjected.

Ron said something that rhymed with 'duck cough' and threw the PlayStation controller on the floor. "I don't see why Muggles get so obsessed with these video games. Can you play chess with this machine? I like chess. I _understand _chess."

Workmen trooped through the hall, wands out. Harry's remodel/expansion was being done entirely by wizards, since there were too many anomalies that needed to be hidden from Muggle eyes in 12 Grimmauld Place. Ginny had invited Ron and herself over so she could eye up the workers. She had three dates arranged already.

Posy brought the day's mail to Harry, wearing a sundress, white knee socks, and Mary Janes. The Declaration of Rights for House Elves said that married house elves were to be permitted to live together; the elder Malfoys had been forced to give Posy clothes so she could move in with Kreacher. Lucius had been livid about it, of course, but Narcissa had used it as an excuse to go out shopping for a closet-full of girly doll clothes. The woman seriously needed a grandchild in her life. Harry took the mail from Posy and opened a large envelope with Draco's name on it. "Honey, it's here, finally."

Draco grimaced. "They're going to be _awful_."

Harry flipped through the pages of the magazine until he came Draco's first-ever lay-out. "Not at all." Draco looked good despite the less than flattering hair-cut. Harry didn't understand the clothing being modeled, though. A skin-tight jumpsuit with attached footies, knitted out of lumpy yarn? It was like one of Molly's projects gone very wrong.

Draco snatched the magazine from Harry's hands. "Black and white? They made my hair that horrid color, and the photos are _black and white_?"

Ginny stuck her head under one of Draco's arms so she could see. "I like that shirt," she said, pointing at a Lycra number that had plastic windows in it. "Nice shot of your bottom, too. It's like a peach."

The phone rang, and Harry picked it up. He heard the person on the other end clear his throat. "Um, is this the Harry Potter that used to live in Little Whinging?"

"_Dudley_?"

"Uh, yeah. 'S me."

"It's been a while."

"Yeah. I guess you beat that... Moldy-person, huh?"

"Voldemort. And I did. What have _you_ been up to, then?"

"I, uh, had a baby. I mean, my girlfriend had a baby. We named her Gemma. She's three months old, and there's... things happening with her. Funny things."

"Gemma's a witch? That's wonderful!"

"It-it is?"

"Of course it is! Congratulations, Dudley."

"So could I bring my girlfriend to meet you? She's a little... you know. Confused and stuff."

"Sure! Bring Gemma, too." Harry gave directions.

"We'll be there in half an hour."

When Harry hung up the phone, Draco was scowling at him. "Your cousin Dudley? The one that used to torture you? He has the audacity to call you and you _invite him over_?"

"_You_ used to torture me."

"That was different."

"If you say so."

It was more like twenty minutes. Dudley had gained some height and grown a wispy mustache. His girlfriend was sturdily-built and wearing a track suit and gold hoop earrings; she looked around suspiciously. "You're a wizard?" she demanded of Harry.

"I am. So is he."

Her eyes widened at the sight of Draco, who was shirtless and wearing his now shoulder-length hair pulled back with barrettes. The torn-flesh-and-blood parts of his arm tattoos had been covered by red and blue roses. The vines were up to his shoulders, and on his left arm, one of the vines formed the letters 'HP'. He put an arm around Harry and kissed him on the cheek while glowering at Dudley.

"This is my fiance, Draco."

"Men can't marry men," Dudley blurted out.

"Wizards can."

"Oh. Uh. This is my girlfriend, Meg."

"Nice to meet you, Meg. May I hold Gemma?" Meg seemed less than thrilled, but she relaxed when she saw that Harry was experienced at handling babies. Gemma had blue eyes and strawberry blonde fuzz all over her head, and she smelled of talcum powder. "What has she been doing?"

Dudley answered. "She makes the mobile over her head move. She hates wearing socks, and when we put them on, they just fly off."

"A girl who knows her own mind." Harry smiled down at Gemma. Looking back up at Meg, he asked, "Would you like to meet a witch and another wizard?"

"A-alright," she said.

Harry led them to the old dining room and introduced them to Ginny and Ron. Meg seemed to be reassured by the sight of Muggle things like video games and the television, but Dudley was unnerved by Draco's continued glaring. Harry could sense his discomfort, though he wasn't saying anything. "I've told Draco a bit about my past. And your part in it." Dudley went ashen.

Draco held the glare. "There was that boy you bullied who hung himself. Because he liked boys."

"Draco, now is not the time," Harry said impatiently. Dudley just stared down at the floor, looking slightly green. "He was just imitating his father. You of all people should understand that. Speaking of which, how does he like being the grandfather of a witch?" he asked his cousin.

Dudley shook his head. "Dad- Dad doesn't want anything to do with us since Gemma did something to him when he tickled her too much that made all his fingernails fell off."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Dudley." Harry was very sincere. No one should be abandoned by family like that.

Kreacher served drinks to everyone but the nursing mother (who was absolutely gobsmacked at the sight of the house elf), and gradually things grew more convivial. Meg and Ginny talked about babies, and then Dudley was astounded by her and Ron's description of the game of Quidditch. Draco looked slightly less like a cat ready to use its claws. Harry secretly thought that Gemma looked like his mother, and that he detected a hint of green in her eyes.

MARCH 3, 2001

Draco was vainly trying to interest Harry in fashionable clothing in Harrod's. "But this will go perfectly with your eyes!"

"Dry-clean only? I don't think so."

That was when they both saw Robert and his newest acquisition, a brown-haired boy who pouted as Robert lectured him sternly about how he couldn't have a new bicycle until he started demonstrating more responsibility. Robert definitely had a type. The boy was fragile, fey, pretty, and not a day over eighteen. He wore rainbow-striped arm warmers and a necklace strung with plastic toys. Harry wondered if he was compensating for a childhood stolen from him.

Harry tensed when Robert glanced in their direction. The man's eyes rested on him a moment, but skipped past Draco as if he didn't exist. Whatever Draco had done to Robert, it had been very effective. Harry made a stealthy move, and Robert yelped, slapping a hand to his neck. "What did you do to him?" Draco asked.

"A little experimental spell from the Auror department. For the next year, any time he tries to hurt someone else, he'll only hurt himself. If he punches someone, he'll get the bruises. If he pushes someone down the stairs, he'll get the snapped neck."

Draco hugged Harry hard. "Have I told you lately how amazing you are?"

"You can say it again." Harry felt Dracos lips curling up into a smile against his neck.

"Was it even legal for you to do that spell outside of work?"

"Of course not. But I won't tell on you if you won't tell on me."

"We're _outlaw wizards_," Draco said, holding Harry at arms'-length and widening his eyes dramatically.

"Two outlaw wizards, made for one another."

MAY 2, 2001

Harry had brought a mini TV/VCR combo to the Burrow. While Arthur waved his wand at it and chanted, Harry watched Teddy and Draco through a window. Teddy was making wild arm gestures while he jabbered non-stop. Draco's forehead was creased in perplexity, but he kept nodding as if he understood what was going on.

The video started. Several pairs of Weasley eyes were riveted on it on curiosity. It was of Draco's catwalk debut during Fashion Week, back at the end of February. "Doesn't he look handsome!" Molly exclaimed. Draco was modeling summer-weight suits in ice cream colors. Harry had watched the tape at least ten times before, but it still made him smile; Draco's catwalk strut was his I'm-so-pleased-with-myself walk, accompanied by his most Malfoyesque facial expression. His looks and hauteur had caused a bit of a stir, and he was working steadily.

Draco came in, looking dazed. "What was that about?" Harry asked.

"I have an suggestion for the Ministry. If you ever run out of veritaserum, just force people to listen to small children attempt to tell jokes until they're willing to talk. The toughest dark wizard will break in ten minutes."

Harry laughed. "What was the joke?"

"I don't know, really. It started out with 'knock-knock,' and then there was something about a squirrel and a bicycle. It segued into the time we took him to the circus. Then he shouted 'Boo' and laughed so hard he that fell over."

"Teddy has been spending time with George. George tells lots of jokes," Molly said.

"And George's jokes aren't much better than Teddy's," Ginny added.

George clutched at his heart. "You wound me, unkind wench!"

Hermione apparated in, waving a thick magazine. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked Draco accusingly.

"What? Everyone knew I was doing some work for _Vogue_."

Hermione slammed the magazine down on the kitchen table and flipped it open two-thirds of the way through its bulk. "There!" The fashion story was entitled 'Un-Grim Fairy Tales,' and consisted of _tableaux _depicting gender-bent versions of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, and Snow White. The Prince was played by a woman with sleepy-looking hazel eyes. Draco had still had his waist-length, potion-grown hair when the pictures were taken, and it looked spectacular spread across gowns that looked like they were made of leaves.

Ron studied a picture of Draco wearing a head-piece made of amber, citrine, and twisted gold wire. "Malfoy wearing a tiara. I knew it would happen someday."

"Do any of you people know who that woman is?" Hermione asked exasperatedly.

She looked vaguely familiar to Harry. "She's a model?" he ventured.

Hermione scoffed. "More like _the _model. The most famous British model, anyway."

"She's boring. Has the personality of a doily," Draco said.

"Was her boyfriend there?" Hermione asked.

"The one with the naff band? I met him. He's boring, too. As boring as his band."

Hermione threw herself down on a chair and tugged at her hair. "_That's my favorite band_. You know that's my favorite band. You could have introduced me to him!"

Ron gave Draco a thumbs-up. "Thank you, Malfoy. She just wants to shag the singer."

"_Ronald Bilius Weasley_! Is that any way to talk about your—your-" Molly cleared her throat and glared at Ron.

"Hey, Ron, wasn't there something you meant to ask Hermione today?" Angelina asked, hiding a smirk behind her hand.

"Something... important?" said Bill.

Draco pointed at Ron's jeans. "I don't think that bulge is there because you're happy to see me."

Ron's eyes went wide and he tried to back away, only to be blocked by Harry. He looked like a trapped animal. "Just do it, son," Arthur ordered as he gave him a shove toward Hermione.

"Yes, I'll marry you, Ron."

"How-how did you know that's what I was going to ask?" Ron seemed genuinely baffled.

"I know, amazing, isn't it?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You could kiss her now," George said.

"Or maybe give her the ring?" Ginny suggested.

"Oh. Yeah." Ron fumbled the box out and tossed it into Hermione's lap. The ring was a bit too large for her finger, but Hermione easily adjusted it to fit with her wand. "I hope it's big enough. The diamond, I mean."

"It's fine, idiot." Hermione jumped out of her chair and kissed him hard.

Fleur clapped in delight as Ginny said, "_Finally_."

"Oh, I wish Fred could be here for this," Molly sighed, brushing a tear away.

"Yeah," said George, "It was always much more fun to take the piss out of Ron when he was here."

The third anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. It was Molly's idea to force Ron to propose as a way to make the date a happy one for the family. "I have another daughter!" she cried as she hugged the stuffing out of Hermione.

JUNE 16, 2001

"I still don't see why you wouldn't go for a double wedding," Ron griped to Hermione. "Now that's two weekends in a row I have to get dressed up. And it would have saved a lot of money." Ginny was making gestures behind Hermione's head, trying to get her brother to shut up before Hermione hexed any of his body parts off.

Draco flipped through a week-old issue of the _Daily Prophet_, going past the hard news to get to the gossip columns. "What makes you think I would have wanted a double wedding?"

"Only girls care about that sort of thing," Ron opined.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Surely you're not going to let a perfect opportunity for a 'Malfoy is a girl' joke to pass you by, are you?"

"Really, Ron. I thought Fred and I taught you better than that," George said.

It was the day before Harry and Draco's wedding. Narcissa had wanted to have it take place at the Vermillion Gryphon, but Draco had managed to resist her pleading. He insisted on being married in a place he had fond memories of: Seaglass, the (once) very exclusive tropical resort that he had loved so much as a little boy. Ministries of Magic around the world had recently hammered out a multi-national edict; it forbade wizard places of any kind from discriminating against non-Purebloods, and Muggles related to wizards. And so the owners of Seaglass had been forced to rent out one whole wing of their hotel to Harry and Draco's very mixed assortment of wedding guests.

At least Narcissa and Lucius had the satisfaction of knowing that the wedding would be officiated by a properly respectable Wizard Anglican vicar. The WA church, concerned at losing younger members to upstart sects like the New Druids, had come around to allowing same-sex marriage, as well as refusing to sanction arranged marriages.

All of the Weasleys had already arrived, taking advantage of Seaglass' invisible sun-screening dome. It would take hours for their pale skin to burn even a little under the equatorial sun. Other guests on the dining terrace had to wear sunglasses just to deal with the glare off all of the fish-belly white flesh.

Harry finished his wine and looked up. "There's an owl headed this way."

The bird was exhausted and over-heated. After dropping an envelope in Ginny's lap, it cannon-balled into a fountain. Ginny just held the envelope and stared at the 'HH' seal on it. "I didn't know you tried out for the Harpies this year," Ron said.

"I didn't want to say anything, because I probably won't get in again." Ginny chewed her lower lip. George grabbed the letter from her, prying the seal up with one fingernail. He unfolded it, and just sat quietly. "See? I knew it wouldn't happen."

George jumped up, nearly bouncing out of his sandals, and whooped. "My baby sister is a Harpy!" he hollered, startling the other diners. One man spilled his sangria in his lap, while a woman choked on her calamari.

Many bottles of champagne were ordered, and they were emptied almost as soon as they arrived at the table. Within half an hour, all other diners had cleared off the terrace. Harry wasn't sure if it was because they were done eating, or if the boisterous Weasley celebration scared them away. Arthur turned the wireless to a station playing big band music and started dancing with Molly, who looked nice in a russet sundress. Fleur plopped Victoire in Bill's lap and ran toward the beach hand in hand with Draco, who was saying something about 'clothing optional'. Even Percy seemed on the verge of cutting loose.

Ginny was up on Harry's table, holding a hand down toward him. "Dance with me, Chosen One."

"We're probably blacklisted from this resort," he said as he clambered up to join her.

"You forget, I'm a famous Quidditch player. I showed my acceptance letter to the manager, and we could probably get way with killing and eating a waiter now."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm not hungry right at the moment."

"So, did you two ever agree on where your honeymoon will be?"

"India. Draco won that argument. I think he's going to be disappointed when he finds out that the people there don't sing and dance all the time like they do in Bollywood movies."

Ginny hugged Harry close, getting up on her tiptoes and pulling his head down so she could whisper into his ear. "It hasn't always been easy for me to see you with him, but I'm glad you found someone that makes you happy. Who would have guessed that Draco Malfoy would end up being good for you?"

A slow song came on the wireless, and Harry did his best to lead Ginny in a waltz, knocking plates and silverware to the terrazzo floor. The sun was setting, touching the water with molten reds and oranges. Draco and Fleur were splashing and laughing in the lagoon, naked as newborns. Percy, fortified with several glasses of champagne, was on one knee, proposing to Audrey. Arthur and Molly kissed like newlyweds. Harry felt sorry for anyone who wasn't him tonight.

...

It wasn't until he was getting undressed for bed that it occurred to Harry that he hadn't thought about Voldemort or the Battle of Hogwarts or anything of that nature all day. When he'd thought about Sirius, it was just to wish that his godfather could have been with him, sharing in the good times.

Draco was still naked and wet and smelling of the sea from his skinny-dip. Harry didn't mind at all that his fiance got the bed all damp and sandy. Or that they weren't getting much sleep at all the night before their wedding.

JUNE 17, 2001

Ginny and Fleur were already eating a very late brunch when Harry and Draco made it to the dining terrace. Ginny turned bloodshot eyes on them and glared evilly."What?" Harry asked.

"Did you know that your room is directly above mine?"

"Oh. Did we keep you awake?"

"You could have tried a muting spell. Though I don't think that would have done anything about the bed banging against my ceiling. I still have plaster dust in my ears. And when I complained to Fleur here, she just said-" Ginny's voice went up an octave, " 'Oooh, _l'amour, c'est magnifique_!' " Fleur giggled.

Draco looked at Harry and smiled dreamily. "Well, it _was_ pretty magnificent."

"Do you know how much make-up it's going to take to make me look half-way decent now? But look at you two, all... glowy. It's sickening." Ginny took her annoyance out on her sausage.

Pansy swooped in on them, wearing gigantic sunglasses and a huge, floppy hat. Her husband, who was still using a cane, stood back while she distributed hugs and air-kisses. She sat next to Draco and started touching his arm tattoos. The thorns had vanished, and the vines were changing from black to soft green. Harry was sure the alterations weren't anything a Muggle tattoo artist was capable of, but Draco just smiled mysteriously when asked about it.

Goyle and Per joined them at the table. Goyle was fully recovered from what the Not Enough Wizard Babies fools had done to him, and he was showing off in a tank top and a pair of very tight shorts. He was far too muscle-bound for Harry's taste, but Per clung to him like he was sure that hordes of people were out to steal his lover. The tiny Swede was peacocking in his usual dragon hide trousers and open shirt, but he'd accessorized with a barbaric gold torc around his neck. "Anyone know if Per is actually one hundred percent human?" Ron asked Harry under his breath as he pulled up a chair, "Because if we're taking a vote, I'm going with 'no'."

Luna and Neville arrived. When Neville looked at him nervously, Draco blew him a kiss. "Try to behave," Harry admonished his husband-to-be, though he knew it was useless.

Daphne Greengrass was there, minus her parents and sister. "Hey, did you know that there's a bunch of NEWBs protesting just outside the resort?"

Harry went to check the protesters out, leaning over Seaglass' driftwood fence. There were five people, each holding a sign that said, 'Wizard + Wizard = no babies.' They hadn't fully recovered from Per's curse; oozing lumps still disfigured their faces. Harry tried to wave them over, but they very pointedly ignored him. Harry walked through the resort gates and right up to them. "You're quite wrong," he said politely, "We're going to have a baby. It's all arranged."

"Just _one_ baby? That's not enough!" one of them shrilled.

"Don't bother trying to reason with them." A familiar voice spoke into Harry's ear. "They are completely incapable of being rational." As soon as the NEWBs caught sight of Lucius raising his wand, they apparated out so fast that one of them left his toenails, hair and y-fronts behind. Harry had never heard Lucius laugh before. "I wanted them gone before they upset Narcissa. She's looking for you, by the way."

Narcissa was in the hotel lobby, harassing the concierge. "Harry, what are you doing? It's only an hour and a half until the wedding! Get to your room _now_!" She sailed off to terrorize the caterers.

Upstairs, Fleur was peeking out out Harry and Draco's room. "Do you want to see what your groom will be wearing for ze wedding, 'Arry? 'E is so 'andsome!" She threw the door open wide, and Harry was greeted by a sight that made his jaw drop.

The satin dress robes were an eye-hurting shade of cerise. They had ruffles, swags, flounces, ruching, frills and furbelows, and were trimmed with chartreuse lace. Draco spun around, making the sequined hem flare out. "What do you think, Harry? Beautiful, yes?"

Draco looked like he was wearing a wedding cake. The tackiest wedding cake that had ever existed. "You-you look... wonderful," Harry said weakly.

"Just think how good we'll look doing our first dance, and in our pictures."

Wedding pictures. This sartorial monstrosity preserved forever in a framed picture in their living room. "That's... nice."

Fleur started whooping with laughter. "Oooh, you should see your face, 'Arry!"

"You are the world's worst liar!" Draco threw himself down in the bed in a paroxysm of hilarity.

"So... you're not wearing that for the wedding?"

"Of course not, idiot! It's horrific!"

"Oh, thank God. You look like Miss Havisham."

Watching the two blonds crack up to the point of tears, it occurred to Harry that Fleur would have made an excellent Slytherin. "Where did you find that?"

"The lost and found." Draco wiped his eyes. "Can you imagine what sort of creature wore this crime against fashion?"

"Now, you must leave, 'Arry! You are not to see what your groom is wearing until ze wedding." Fleur shut the door in Harry's face.

"But I need my wedding robes!" he protested. Fleur opened the door a crack and squeezed through a box from Twilfitt and Tatting's. "What is it about weddings that makes women so damned bossy?" he muttered to himself as he went back downstairs. He knocked on Ginny's door. "I was evicted from my own room by a mad Frenchwoman. May I get dressed in here?"

...

Harry emerged from Ginny's room in deep blue dress robes, his scalp aching from what she'd done to his hair. It looked good, but Harry was sure that blood had been drawn. He squinted hard at a person who was standing in front of him, seemingly talking to herself "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Rita Skeeter gave him a predatory smile, exposing the lipstick stains on her teeth. "Isn't it an amazing coincidence that I booked my vacation here at the same time that the wedding of the year is happening? How are you feeling about your upcoming nuptials, Mr. Potter? Having any second thoughts?" Harry could see her Quick-Quotes Quill scratching away behind her stiff blonde curls. It was a simple matter to point his wand over her shoulder and incinerate both the acid-green quill and whatever pack of lies it had written. Rita yowled in outrage. "You'll pay for that! I'm doing a book about you next!"

Harry leveled his wand at the journalist's throat. "I'm used to you writing fiction about me, but if you pen one word nasty about about my husband, I'll turn you into a tapeworm and fed you to a pig." Skeeter let out a terrified squawk and tottered away as fast as her high heels and pencil skirt would allow.

Narcissa found him then, and she had a semi-crazed look in her eyes. She grabbed him by the collar. "_Where have you been?!_ Oh, it's a disaster! The string quartet came down with spattergroit and the vicar got into the firewhiskey and a disgruntled employee turned all the champagne into vinegar! _What are we going to do_?!"

"Just breathe, alright? We'll make do."

"Malfoys do not _make do_," she said icily. She paused for a moment. "You'll be changing your name to Malfoy, right?"

"_What_?"

A caterer walked by with a tray of smoking drinks and Narcissa's head snapped around. "The wedding colors are blue and silver. Why are those cocktails pink?" Harry took advantage of the distraction and escaped.

More and more guests were arriving. Dudley and his girlfriend came with Gemma, gawking at the witches and wizards in their dress robes. Millicent Bulstrode, there with Demelza, was fussing over Crabbe. Blaise arrived with a woman whom Harry assumed must be his mother; she barely looked five years older than her son, but she had the same cat-like eyes. Her gown had a lace-up bodice that barely contained her plump bosom, and she made a bee-line toward Lucius. The Patil twins showed up in festive saris. Hagrid and Olympe, Professors McGonagall and Slughorn and Flitwick... It was turning into a Hogwarts reunion.

Bill and George ushered everyone to the blue and silver trimmed chairs that were set up on the shore. Resort employees performed cooling spells so the guests wouldn't overheat in their formal wear. The wedding attendants were being bullied into place by Narcissa. Luna, Ginny, Pansy and Hermione were breathtaking in Grecian-style gowns, each a different shade of blue. They all had their hair up and decorated with small silver flowers. When Narcissa set Blaise next to Ginny, he gave her a look that made steam come out of Ron's ears.

"Hello, Cissy. How are you?" Andromeda was escorting Teddy, who was turquoise-haired and silver-eyed just for the occasion.

"I'm fine. How are you?" Narcissa replied formally to her sister.

"Fine." Andromeda knelt down in front of Teddy. "You remember what you're supposed to do, don't you, Teddy?"

Teddy nodded solemnly. He was wearing the tiniest set of dress robes Harry had ever seen. Fleur, who'd been recruited to replace the string quartet, took her place at the silver awning in front of the chairs and began singing a French song in a pleasant soprano. Blue and silver flower petals showered from the sky, wafting on the gentle tropical breeze.

Andromeda placed a silver satin pillow in Teddy's hands and carefully placed two gold rings on it. "Go." She turned Teddy around and steered him toward the white-carpeted aisle. The tot took two steps, saw all the faces staring at him, and dropped backwards onto his rump, howling. The rings went bouncing off under people's feet. Narcissa started clutching at her hair. Ron _accio_'d the rings and tucked them into his sleeve, then took Pansy's arm and started down the aisle. Ginny followed with Blaise, Goyle with Luna, and Hermione with Crabbe.

There was a shriek. The vicar, still blasted on firewhiskey, had fallen against Fleur. Narcissa let out a moan. She gave Harry a shove. "Get up there before anything else goes wrong." He walked the aisle at the measured pace that Narcissa had schooled him in, worried that she would murder him on the spot if he messed it up.

By the time Harry made it to the awning, the rotund, middle-aged vicar had an arm wrapped around Fleur. "I may be a man of God," he was saying to her, "but I am also just a man, with a man's needs." Fleur was trying to gracefully duck from his grasp.

A wave of murmurs from the guests caught Harry's attention. Draco was coming up the aisle in azure robes. He was doing his I'm-so-pleased with-myself strut and was smiling like a cat. The varying shades of blues the wedding party wore echoed those of the lagoon behind them. He reached the awning, and he and Harry clasped hands. It would have been a lovely moment if the vicar hadn't been attempting to nibble on Fleur's neck.

"If you do not marry us, you will not be paid," Draco said imperiously, poking the vicar hard in the chest with his free hand.

The vicar tried hard to focus his eyes on the grooms. "I'm seeing double! I can't see the bride!"

"You are marrying two men, you sozzled buffoon!"

"Uh? Oh. Mmmm-now pronounce you man and... husband. I'll leave my wife for you, my little French bon-bon. She's got swollen ankles and whiskers, anyway."

Harry was pretty sure he could hear Narcissa sobbing. He held his hand out to Ron for the rings, both of which were inscribed on the inside with 'Draco and Harry 17/6/01.' He took Draco's left hand and slid a ring onto his slim, white finger. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Draco put the other ring on Harry. "With this ring, I thee wed." They kissed lingeringly, slow and sweet, and the wedding photographer caught the moment. They pulled back a bit, gazing into each other's eyes. Harry couldn't stop grinning like a fool. Bloody hell, he was _married _to the beauty that stood before him. Those silver eyes looked only at him _that_ way.

There was a whistling sound. Harry looked up, trying to figure out what the black thing falling out of the sky was. It let out a puff of smoke, and a stench like rotten eggs crossed with vomit enveloped the entire beach. Sparks shot out of the object, forming letters that read, 'With Love, Astoria.' Chairs were knocked higgledy-piggledy as the guests fled, coughing and gagging. The wedding party apparated itself to the large tent where the reception was being held.

The champagne situation must have been taken care of, as there was a fountain spewing bubbly. Narcissa marched over to it and filled her glass. She drank it in one long pull, and immediately refilled it. She was actually perspiring, which was something Harry had thought she was incapable of doing. A third glass, a fourth glass... It wasn't until she was filling up her fifth glassful that the insane look faded from her eyes. She wiped away her sweat mustache and started on getting the reception line organized and moving. Servers circulated through the crowd, distributing drinks.

Around five, the caterers started bringing the food out. There were two rectangular tables on the dais, one for the wedding party and one for the parents of the grooms. Though the definition of 'parent' was rather elastic in Harry's case. At the second table, the elder Malfoys were separated from Arthur and Molly Weasley by photographs of James, Lily, and Sirius.

George set a picture of his own out on his and Angelina's table. Someone had taken a photo of Fred just after he'd eaten a Puking Pastille. George had doctored it so that, just before he tossed his lunch, a speech bubble came out of Fred's mouth saying 'Harry and Malfoy having sex?' Molly Vanished it and thumped George on top of the head.

About half-way through the meal (shrimp, sushi, lobster, kraken steaks, hatchling grindylows on skewers), Per swaggered up to the dais and wrapped his arms around his man. "Did Greg tell you that we're engaged now?" he announced loudly. As the Slytherin alumni rushed to congratulate the couple, Draco glared daggers at the Swede. Per put on an innocent smile, but there were glimmers of red in his eyes.

"I tell you, he's not human," Ron said.

"Worse than that, he's rude," Draco said poutily. "It's _my_ wedding."

"Now I _will_ make a 'Malfoy is a girl' joke."

When the meal was over, a clunky, antique wireless was brought in. Arthur fiddled with the dials, looking for a song appropriate for the grooms' first dance. 'Full Moon Folly' by the Cauldronaires came on-the first song Harry had ever danced to with Draco. Harry held his hand out, and Draco took it.

Narcissa had insisted on personally giving Harry refresher dancing lessons (the Yule Ball was so long ago), which had seemed a little too intimate at the time, but he was thankful now. He was able to move around the dance floor without trampling his husband's feet. Draco rubbed up against him and whispered, "I'm not wearing anything under my robes."

Harry groaned. "Why are you doing this while _everyone _is looking at us?" He willed his body not to react to the provocation, without much success.

"It's our wedding day. We'resupposed to be on fire for one another."

"Yeah, well, right now, we're just plain indecent."

"Just stay close, and no one can see." Draco slipped his tongue in Harry's mouth and stroked his bottom through his robes, which didn't help Harry's over-heated state.

The slow song ended, and an upbeat rock and roll oldie came on. The dance floor filled up. When Pansy snagged Draco, Harry hoped to sneak off to hide both his inability to fast-dance and his... happiness, but he was stopped by a hand on his arm. "This is not a good time, Ginny."

She laughed and placed one of his hands on her waist. "I have eleventy-million brothers. The male body holds no mystery for me. _Dance_."

And he did dance, more than he ever expected to in his whole life, much less in just one night. He danced with Fleur, Molly, Olympe, Padma, Pansy, Teddy, George... Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco approach Neville and ask for a turn around the floor; Neville looked panicked. Ron stalked over to Harry as he finished up a waltz with Luna. "Look what you've done," he said accusingly, pointing at Ginny and Blaise. They appeared to be eating each others' faces.

Harry shrugged. "With those two, it'll be a one-night thing."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

The sun was going down, and babies and small children were put to bed. The vicar was found passed out under a pile of wedding gifts, sporting a black eye from Bill. Harry could see Narcissa and Andromeda over by the champagne fountain, crying and hugging. Another slow song came on: 'Your Kiss is My Amortentia,' by Vanity Vayne and the Looking Glasses. Draco wrapped himself around Harry. "One last dance, and then let's sneak out of here. I've got a surprise for you." He put his tongue in Harry's mouth again, teasing with his stud, not ending the kiss until the song was over. He looked Harry in the eye and licked his lips. "Let's go."

...

Harry sat up in bed with a blindfold on, trying to figure out what the banging noises he was hearing signified. "All done!" Draco pulled the blindfold off of Harry's eyes. He was wearing black, silver-spangled boyshorts that left a good portion of his lower cheeks bare. He had on a pair of high-heeled platform boots, black vinyl with flame designs on the ankles; they made his slim legs look even longer than they were. Strutting toward a metal pole that was now in the middle of the room, he paused to turn on a CD player. It started playing an old Muggle rock song with a sleazy beat. Draco struck a pose against the pole, shaking his rear end. He coquettishly looked over his shoulder at Harry. "What do you think? Do these boots make my arse look good?"

"I think your arse makes your arse look good." Harry couldn't keep a lustful grin off his face. The high heels did make Draco's bum stick out enticingly, and they deepened the lower-back dimples that Harry loved so much. "_Everything_ looks good." Harry couldn't imagine a body more perfect; long and slender and pale and tight. The narrow hips alone, with their twin indentations running down into the waistband of the boyshorts, were deserving of their own poem. A book of poems.

"I've been taking lessons." Using the boots to grip, Draco climbed up the pole and and arched backwards, his hair hanging down. Sliding back down, he started to undulate against the pole, gazing steadily at Harry and running one hand up and down his body. He circled and spun around the pole, then did a deep knee-bend, caressing the front of his knickers with one hand. He rose up and, draping himself against the pole, he stroked and pinched his nipples, tweaking his piercings.

Harry noticed that Draco was getting an erection. "You are such an exhibitionist," he said.

"Only for you." Draco slid a hand down his pants, and Harry could see the red, wet head of his cock as he played with the ring that pierced it.

Harry squirmed. "I don't think I've ever been so hard before."

"I have another surprise for you," Draco said breathlessly. "I put a special charm on myself. I can't come until you say 'platypus'."

"Why pla-uh, that word?"

"Because it's not something you're likely to say by accident. Unless you've got some sort of secret platypus fetish." Draco stroked his shaft, moving his foreskin up and down, and bit his lip.

"My only fetish is for incredibly sexy blonds. See?" Harry pulled the sheet off his lap so Draco could see the bulge in his boxers.

"It's a good thing we got together, then. What do you want me to do now? I'll do whatever you want."

"Just let me watch you touch yourself a little longer." The boyshorts fell to Draco's ankles, and he kicked them away. "Keep the boots on," Harry ordered.

Harry hadn't had any experience with penises other than his own and Draco's, but he was sure that his husband's was the most beautiful one on the planet. It was long, with a graceful inward curve, and Harry could see blue veins through the skin. Watching Draco stroke it was such an erotic sight, Harry was afraid that just the feel of his boxers on his own throbbing cock would set him off too soon.

"Back in school, I thought about you so many times when I did this. And this." Draco licked a finger and reached behind. "I wanted to feel you inside me so badly."

Harry wiggled out of his boxers, his erection bobbing. "Why don't you use that pretty mouth for more than just talking?"

Draco stalked gracefully to the bed and crawled up toward Harry. He ran his silky hair along Harry's empurpled shaft, evoking a sigh. He used his tongue stud, vibrating it against Harry's hole, then running it just inside the edge of Harry's prepuce. Taking Harry's entire length into his mouth, he bobbed his head up and down, the wet heat of his mouth making Harry clutch at the sheets. Draco tilted his head up. The sight of his husbands's lips enveloping him while he stroked his own pierced cock and and gazed up at him with the most wanton look in his silver eyes was too much for Harry. He climaxed explosively. Draco kept sucking and swallowing until the last tremor of pleasure was done.

Draco sat up, licking a drop of semen from the corner of his mouth, then kissed Harry deeply. Harry flipped Draco over onto his back and got between his legs, pushing them up and to the sides until his husband was splayed out before him with his little pink hole showing. It was a view Harry never got tired of. Hooking Draco's knees over his shoulders, Harry nibbled on the tender insides of Draco's thighs, and on that sensitive place where thigh turned into buttock, occasionally nipping hard enough to leave marks. He moved up to Draco's balls, which were high and tight with arousal, drawing them into his mouth. He licked his way up Draco's shaft to the dripping head of his cock. Harry used his teeth to play with Draco's Prince Albert piercing, which made him let out sweet little moans.

"Please fuck me," Draco breathed, "Oh, God, please fuck me."

Harry rose up on his hands, smiling. His husband's begging was making him hard all over again. "I thought I was in charge here."

"I want your cock inside me right now. _Please_." Draco started thrusting his hips.

"I couldn't possibly say no to that." Harry circled Draco's puckered entrance with his tongue for a bit, making him purr, then grabbed the lube from the side-table and squeezed out a generous amount. Gently, he worked at opening Draco up, easing in one finger, and then a second. Going in deeper, he found Draco's most sensitive place, what felt like a small plum through his warm walls. Harry probed and stroked it in a way that usually made Draco come immediately. Because of the charm he'd put on himself, all Draco could do now was tremble and whimper.

Draco was very enthusiastic about sex in general, but he loved getting fucked most of all. He preferred to be on his back so he could see Harry's face. As Harry sank into him, Draco gazed up at him, his mouth opening in a soft gasp. The feel of Draco's tight ring of flesh around him was pretty close to Harry's definition of heaven. "Fuck me _hard_," Draco demanded.

Time lost all meaning as Harry thrust away with Draco clutching and clawing at his arse. Sweat was dripping from his body. The noises his husband was making were driving Harry crazy; he was so hard, it was nearly painful. "Please, please," Draco panted.

"Please what?" Harry asked him while teasing Draco's sweet spot with the head of his cock. Draco could only mewl and drum the heels of his boots against Harry's back. Draco's face was flushed and damp with sweat, his disarrayed hair sticking to his cheeks. His lips were swollen, and his eyes were half-closed and glazed with want. "Draco, I swear, you have never looked more beautiful than you do now. _Platypus_."

Draco's mouth opened wider than Harry thought possible, and his lashes fluttered as his eyes rolled up into his head. He pulled Harry's hair as he shook and whimpered wordlessly, his hips bucking wildly. Hot wetness hit Harry on his stomach and chest and the underside of his chin. This set off a tsunami of an orgasm in Harry that seemed to come from the tips of his toes and roll all the way up to the top of his head; he threw his head back as he let out a gutteral cry.

Harry looked down as he tried to catch his breath. Draco's eyelids were closing. "Are you falling asleep already? I haven't even pulled out yet."

"Bezz 'rgazz ev'r had," Draco slurred, just before he started snoring delicately.

Harry laid on his back. He ran a finger through the cum under his chin and licked it off; Draco tasted like the ocean. Grinning up at the ceiling, he knew he would savor the memory of fucking his husband into unconsciousness on their wedding night for the rest of his life.

...

The next day, as Harry and Draco were preparing to open the mountain of gifts that they'd received, Ginny said, "You shouldn't have left so early. The NEWBs tried to invade the reception and Per actually called down a bolt of lightning and gave them a bit of a toasting. Narcissa turned Blaise's mother into a praying mantis when she tried to sit on Lucius' lap. Hermione threw Rita Skeeter into the punch bowl, and we got to see what happens when her hair gets wet. You missed it all."

The newlyweds exchanged a heated look. "We didn't miss that much," Harry said.

"And it was completely worth it," said Draco.

AUGUST 28, 2002

Draco was showing his mother the photographs of his and Harry's recent stay at Seaglass. The pictures that were appropriate to show to company, that is. There were other, _special_ photos tucked away in Harry's underwear drawer that documented how they spent the night of their first anniversary. Narcissa held up a shot of Draco lounging shirtless on a chaise, wearing sunglasses with huge red heart-shaped frames and sipping a drink out of a coconut shell. "I want a copy of this one. Oh, and the one with you and Harry standing in front of the sunset."

All in all, it had been a good year. A great year. The two of them had re-joined the wizarding community together. Harry had learned that, after they got used to seeing his face around Diagon Alley on a regular basis, people stopped swarming him and asking for autographs. It seemed his previous strategy of dealing with his fame by hiding had only made what he'd been trying to avoid worse. Draco had learned that people could be amazingly forgiving.

There had been rough spots. Draco occasionally still had a bad spell, though it had been months since Harry had used an _Incarcerous_ on him for other than strictly recreational purposes. The worst had been when Draco had let his mother convince him to visit Malfoy Manor; he'd had screaming nightmares for a week after that.

Draco continued talking to people that he felt he'd wronged. He still insisted on doing it on his own, though Harry did witness one of his apologies. It had been at a dinner Ron and Hermione had hosted at their flat. Copious amounts of red wine had been poured, and a very tipsy Draco had suddenly burst into tears and started telling Hermione how sorry he was that he hadn't tried to stop his aunt from torturing her. Hermione, who was also sozzled, had started crying, too, assuring him that a teen-ager couldn't have been expected to go up against a powerful witch like Bellatrix, and that he'd been so obviously sickened and terrified that she had never blamed him at all. It had ended in a soggy hug and Ron's declaration that red wine would never be served in his home again.

Oddly, to Harry, today seemed more anniversary-like than their actual anniversary. Knowing that their life together was going to go through an immense change within the next fifteen minutes was making Harry think over their marriage in a way he hadn't on the seventeenth of June. He smiled as he imagined traveling in time (perhaps the Doctor would take him for a spin in the TARDIS) and telling his fourteen-year-old self that he was going to be happily wed to Draco Malfoy within seven years. Very happily.

Harry and Draco did have their fights, like any other couple. They'd had a real ripsnorter a couple of months ago, when Harry twisted an ankle tripping over a pair of boots Draco'd left on the stairs. Harry had called Draco a thoughtless, spoiled brat, Draco had started throwing things, Posy had fled from the fracas in terror, and it all ended in rough, noisy sex on the stairs. Harry loved a happy ending.

His musings were interrupted by a knock on the front door. Harry and Draco stood up to answer it, but Narcissa knocked them both out of the way. The remodel of 12 Grimmauld Place had included getting rid of the hallway and making most of the ground floor an open area, with windows on the front and back walls. From his vantage point by the couch, Harry could see the midwife handing a be-ribboned basket to his mother-in-law. Narcissa brought the basket over to the coffee table and set it down, cooing at its occupant. Harry and Draco peered into the basket as Narcissa began undressing the baby like she was opening a fragile gift.

Lucius, who'd been flipping through a Muggle book about the history of sci-fi films and looking very confused, strode over to inspect his investment. He scowled and stabbed a finger in the baby's direction. "Something is missing!"

Narcissa had picked the naked baby up and was now in mid-nuzzle. "Nonsense. She's a perfect little piglet."

"_She_ was supposed to be a _boy_."

"Now, Lucius, you know that sort of potion isn't known to be one hundred percent effective."

"Twenty-five thousand Galleons wasted," Lucius muttered. When three pairs of eyes glared at him murderously, he actually took a step back.

"I always wanted a little girl," Narcissa crowed. "Now I have a little princess."

Lucius muttered something under his breath. Harry wasn't sure, but it sounded like he'd said something along the lines of 'you already had one.'

Narcissa set the baby down on a couch cushion and went _nomnomnom _all over the fat little tummy. "Is your mother going to eat the baby?" Harry asked to Draco.

"She's a vegetarian these days."

Narcissa dressed the baby again, then asked Draco, "Do you want to hold your daughter now, sweetheart?" He'd been baby-proofed: all his piercings above the neck had been taken out, and his hair was securely tied back. Draco sat on the couch, and his mother coached him on how to support the baby's head properly. Gazing down at the plump pinkness in his arms, he looked gobsmacked. Harry sat next to him to admire the chubby cheeks and lone tuft of white-blonde hair. "She looks just like you did when you were a baby," Narcissa said. She picked up her camera and started taking pictures.

"We'll name her after my mother," Lucius declared.

"Rigoberta? I think not," Draco said.

"Part of the agreement was that I would choose the infant's name."

"But, Father, the agreement said you would name theheir and the carrier of the Malfoy name. Which implies a boy child." Harry hid a smile behind his hand. He loved it when Draco stood up to his father.

Lucius heaved a sigh. "You really ought to have gone into law like I wanted you to. What about naming her Druella after your maternal grandmother?" Harry had to make a real effort to not make a Cruella DevIlle joke. It would have been utterly wasted on the elder Malfoys, anyway.

Draco shook his head. "No. I don't want to name her after a dead person." It echoed what Draco had told Harry the night before. He didn't want to cling to the past the way Pure-Bloods like his parents did, he'd said; he wanted his child to have a name free of the encumbrance of family history. "I think her name should be Dawn. What do you think, Harry?"

"I like it." Harry kissed Draco and the baby as Narcissa snapped away with the camera.

"What sort of Mugglish name is that?" Lucius exclaimed.

"A pretty name for a pretty girl," Narcissa crooned.

Lucius, knowing he was defeated, pulled infant things made of silver out of his robes. The rattle was placed in the basket. He put a set of tableware on the coffee table. There was a little plate with a high rim, a long spoon for a parent to use to feed a baby, a small bent-handled spoon for a child to use, and a little bent-handled cup with a lid. Everything was engraved with an ornate M. Leave it to a Malfoy to give priceless heirlooms to an infant. "And here I thought 'born with a silver spoon in your mouth' was just a saying," Harry said to Draco. Draco stuck his tongue out at Harry.

Voices were filtering up from the kitchen. It was time for friends and family to admire the new addition. Ginny and Pansy were the first to show up, carrying bags from Diagon Alley's most popular childrens' shop. "So you're really a dad?" Ginny asked Harry excitedly. She was wearing jeans, trainers, and a Harpies tee shirt.

"I am. I signed the adoption papers this morning." Harry grinned hugely. It had finally hit him, the reality that he was now a parent.

The girls hovered over the baby, squealing over the adorableness as Draco fed her a bottle that Posy had prepared. "Oooh, you make a beautiful baby!" said Pansy. "You know, Vinny can't get me pregnant because of what happened to him. His bollocks got cooked like eggs. Maybe you could be my sperm donor. I'd prefer to do it the old-fashioned way, of course, but if you'd rather just toss off in a cup, that's fine." Lucius made a choking noise. It could have been caused by the blunt talk, or by the idea of mixing his precious blood-line with a Parkinson.

Molly arrived with a knitted layette. Hermione came with Ron, and Fleur brought Victoire. Luna and Neville gifted the newborn with a spiral-shaped contraption that was supposed to hang above a crib to prevent ear infections caused by Wrackspurts. Teddy was escorted by his grandmother. And that was only the beginning of the arrivals. Soon, the spacious living room was packed, especially when the Hagrids apparated in. Even some of Draco's fashion world acquaintances showed; there were more witches and wizards in the industry than one would think. Kreacher, who had grown younger-looking since his marriage, circulated with a tray of canapés, while his tiny wife offered cocktails.

An hour later, Victoire and Teddy were having an intense conversation in both English and French about the feasibility of climbing the built-in shelves that held Harry's new DVD collection. Crabbe and Goyle had returned from a visit to the back garden red-eyed and smiling goofily. Per was performing some sort of Old Norse charm to keep Dawn safe from evil spirits he called Meinvættir. Ginny, Pansy, and Hermione giggled together while they demolished a tray of deviled lobster sandwiches. Ron and Dudley talked Quidditch. Hagrid complained to one of Draco's designer friends about the difficulty of finding clothing in his size. Back when Harry was a lonely little boy banished to the cupboard under the stairs, he couldn't have possibly imagined he'd have a day like today.

Harry hugged his sleeping daughter to his chest. He looked at the corner where Lucius stood by himself in front of a window, the angle of the late afternoon sun casting shadows on his face, then over at his husband. Draco was perched on the back of the couch, laughing uproariously at a filthy joke Blaise was telling while fending off a tickle attack from Millie with his bare feet. To think that Lucius had tried to turn Draco into a copy of himself.

Ginny kicked off her shoes and turned the wireless on. It was time to dance. "Come on, Harry." Even though it was a work day for almost everyone the next day, the party went on until the small hours of the morning.

...

When they were undressing for bed, Harry noticed that the green vines on Draco's lower left arm now formed the word 'Dawn'. The name was surrounded by tiny hearts and flowers. "How do you _do_ that?"

"I'll tell you if you get my name tattooed on your arse." Draco crawled into bed in his zebra-striped bikini briefs.

"Needles in my bottom. I don't think so." Harry turned on the baby monitor, then lay down next to his husband. "There's one thing you've never told me."

"Mmm?"

"So, everyone at Hogwarts knew you liked boys after some sort of incident with Moaning Myrtle, right?"

"Mmm."

"What happened, exactly?"

Draco started snoring softly.


	6. A Cat Left Alone oneshot

Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Rating: T

Warnings: drunkenness is a main plot point. Some suggestiveness.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling and I just play around in it for fun.

This fic takes place in my 'Stray Cat' universe, but you don't have to have read anything else to follow along here. This takes place after Harry and Draco are married, but before they get Dawn. Per is Goyle's significant other, who is jealous of Draco.

...

It was early afternoon when Harry got back home from the Auror's convention, a bit earlier than expected. "Draco!" he called, but there was no answer. When he opened the bathroom door, he saw Draco fast asleep in the bath tub, which was partly filled even though Draco was wearing a pair of black trousers. He was also holding a half-submerged bottle of beer at crotch level. Harry took care of his business, then gently shook Draco's knee. "Wake up, sleeping beauty. You're getting pruny."

One of Draco's eyes cracked open. "Harry home," he grunted.

"So, ah, why are you in the tub with your clothes on? What happened last night?"

SIXTEEN HOURS EARLIER

"Greggy, we don't do this enough any more," Draco said mournfully. The two young men were sprawled on a couch, downing firewhiskey and listening to a Weird Sisters concert on the WWN.

Greg Goyle shrugged. "Well, you know how Per feels about you. I just can't seem to make him believe that I don't have any feelings like _that _for you. Any more. I mean, I did, but..." Greg trailed off realizing that he had said more than was wise.

But Draco wasn't listening. He jumped off the couch and onto the coffee table, playing air guitar. "_I'm gonna tame you, dragon lady, I'm gonna ride you, don't mean maybe_," he sang. He made devil horns with his hands and banged his head, hair flying. "Remember when we saw the Sisters is Paris? We have to do that again."

"That's Per's coffee table," Greg objected, but he was grinning as he watched Draco. When Draco started to bump and grind, though, the grin slipped. "That's enough," he snapped when Draco started lifting his shirt, flirtily showing off his stomach. "Why do you always have to carry things just a little too far? I should know better than to let you drink."

Draco stepped off the table, bowing his head in a show of contrition. "Awww, I'm sorry, Greggy. I was just having fun. Forgive me?"

Greg sighed. "Sure." Draco fell on the couch beside him and hooked one arm around his thick neck in a hug/stranglehold.

Of course, that was when Per walked in, a full day before he was supposed to return home. His blue eyes glowed red, and he began to mutter in an ancient Norse tongue. Draco released Greg and spread his hands placatingly. "Oh, hey, Per, nothing was-" What Per shouted may have been in a language centuries dead, but Draco got the message loud and clear, especially when sparks flew from the enraged Viking's fingertips and burned pin-holes in the seat of his trousers. "Ow! Son of a - I'm going, I'm going!"

And so Draco found himself tipsily wandering the streets of London on a Saturday night. He started out alone, but didn't stay that way for long. There was the hen party that lured him into a limo with promises of champagne (a mistake he would never make again), the shill that got him into a tacky strip club (where he ran into the same grabby-handed hen party), the middle-aged businessman who seemed to want to make Draco his... whatever the male equivalent of a mistress was. Fortunately, Draco got rid of the man before the paparazzo trolling the area realized that Draco was mildly famous.

Somehow, Draco ended up in a private room at a night club with a man who started talking about putting him in a porno. That was going to be filmed in that very room. That very night. Like, in ten minutes. Draco had never heard of the 'Bottom Busters' series, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to participate. The man turned away for just a moment to make a call on his mobile, and Draco grabbed a couple of bottles of wine off the table and high-tailed it out of there. It was awful wine, really, but Draco was sozzled enough already that he didn't care.

The first bottle was finished quickly and thrown into an alley, where it shattered against a wall. He charmed the second one open, ignoring flirtatious requests that he share (they probably wanted to put him in porno, too). The more of the sub-par vino he drank, the better it tasted. But in his drunken state, he had forgotten something- that red wine made him melancholy. Harry didn't allow it in the house any more, not since the time Draco had cried for hours after watching 'The Thornbirds'.

Red wine made Draco nostalgic as well as lachrymose, and, half-way through the bottle, he started reminiscing about his pet peacock, Sir Percival Blancmange Frillybottom the Third. Five years ago, poor Percy had been eaten by a fox. "I hate foxes!" Draco snarled, startling a group of mini-skirted girls. Percival had been the best peacock a boy could want; he had followed Draco around, and had let him stroke his silky feathers, and he hadn't made too much noise when Draco snuck him into his room. Percival would roost on his dresser and keep him company all night. The Manor was so lonely most of the time, and Draco wasn't allowed to play with Dobby, so Percival was... Percival was... Percival was his _best friend_!

There were parts of the city where someone staggering down the sidewalk and swigging from a wine bottle while weeping would not be considered all that odd. The quiet, family-oriented neighborhood where Ron and Hermione had their flat was not such a place. But it hardly mattered, as it was four o'clock in the morning and no one was awake, anyway. At least, not yet.

Ron's hair stuck up in a matted clump, and his eyes were barely open. "Bloody hell, Draco, do you know what time it is? When Harry taught you how to do a Patronus, I don't think was so you could wake- what happened to your shirt?"

"I gave it to a homeless person. I think he was homeless. His clothes were awful."

Ron squinted at the bottle in Draco's hand. "_Merlot_? Red wine? NO. Uh uh. You're not coming in."

"Ron, what's going on?" Hermione craned her head over her husband's pajama-clad shoulder. "Oh, Draco, is something wrong?"

"No, he's just leaving." Ron tried to shut the door.

"He's crying!" Hermione eeled under Ron's arm and blocked the door open. "I told Harry he shouldn't leave him alone for an entire week, not with his abandonment issues."

"_Red wine_," Ron said exasperatedly. "He cried over me squashing a spider while he was drinking chianti, remember?" Hermione had her arm around the tall blond, who was now sobbing. "And you're in your bloody underwear!"

"Like _he _cares," Hermione threw back over her shoulder as she ushered Draco into the flat.

"He's not a sad house elf. He's a Malfoy. They _kick _house elves." But Ron's voice was resigned.

"Sit down, Draco. Now tell me what's got you so upset."

Draco took a pull off the wine bottle, finishing up the merlot. "You Muggles, you can make copies of animals?"

"Er, yeah, cloning? There was a sheep-"

"What about peacocks? I still have Percival's feathers!"

"I, uh, don't actually know-"

"But you know _everything_." Draco's mouth trembled as his eyes overflowed.

"Just get another damned peacock," Ron groused. "All they do is poop and screech, anyway."

"_Your_ only pet was a man-rat. A rat-man," Draco sniped.

"Yes, you just don't understand, Ron," Hermione said.

"I liked it better when you two hated each other," Ron muttered.

"He's just grouchy because you woke him up, Draco."

"And now I'm grouchy because you're all over my barely-dressed wife."

Draco smiled woozily up at Ron; he had his head in Hermione's lap. He didn't feel like crying any more at the moment, though that could always change. "Girl parts are too complicated for me."

Ron threw up his arms and turned to walk out of the room. "I'm going back to bed."

"I was up, anyway," Hermione said. "There's a fascinating new potions book out. You should read it. When you're sober."

"I love you, Hermione," Draco blubbered, weepy again.

"Love you, too, Draco, but you've got to learn how to cope with being alone."

"I hate being alone." Draco turned on his side and grasped Hermione's knee. "Father sacked Nanny, and I was all by myself. I _hate_ it." He closed his eyes and drew his knees up. "Hate it."

"Well, Harry will be home soon," Hermione said as she smoothed the hair back from Draco's face. Draco smiled drowsily at her touch, thinking _Mother_ as he fell asleep.

Hermione and Draco were woken two hours later by Molly and Arthur coming through the living room fireplace. "OH!" said Molly. Arthur turned red at the sight of his daughter-in-law in her bra and half-slip. "We'll just- later-" The elder Weasleys hustled back into the fireplace and poofed away.

"_Bloody hell_," Ron said from the hallway.

"Oh, damn, I'm going to have to do a lot of explaining," Hermione moaned. She broke into a fit of giggles. "You don't think that they actually think that we...?"

Draco got up on his knees and grabbed the wine bottle, and was disappointed to find it empty. "Maybe we should. We could make a crazy-haired baby. I'd have to imagine that you're your husband to be able to do it, though."

"I heard that!" Ron said, coming into the living room. "_Please_ go. I've sent an owl to my parents and-"

"Fine," Draco huffed. He swayed a bit on his feet; he was still tiddly. Through the fireplace and into the kitchen, where there was no one to cook breakfast for him because the elves were on their Ministry-mandated vacation. Draco stared at the contents of the fridge, not wanting any of it. Except maybe Harry's beer. Suddenly feeling thirsty down to his bone marrow, Draco drained one in two pulls. He let out a long belch, then cracked open another one. Bloody Harry wasn't due back from his convention until the afternoon. The gnawing anxiety that Draco had been feeling since the second day of being left alone returned in full force. He wished that there was something stronger than beer in the house.

After his third beer, Draco noticed that his trousers were dirty around the cuffs. _They're my favorites. I need them washed. But the elves aren't here._ In his fuzzy state of mind, it seemed quite logical to take off his shoes and socks and climb into the tub with his trousers still on. They would get clean, would they not? Draco laid back in the lavender-scented water and sipped at his fourth beer. They would be nice and fresh when he and Harry went out for dinner tonight; Harry had promised. Draco cradled his beer at his groin and fell asleep.

PRESENT

Draco took a sip of his beer (which was probably mostly bath water), then spat it out. "Yuck."

"Come on. I would love to hear a good story."

"Nothing happened," Draco mumbled.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He very much doubted that. "Fine. Let's get you out of that tub and into bed, babe." He grabbed the bottle away from Draco and set it down in a corner, not wanting broken glass in the tub.

"You left me all alone," Draco said accusingly.

Kneeling, Harry worked an arm under Draco's back. "Something tells me I shouldn't have done."

"Hermione is cloning Percival for me."

"That's nice." Harry lifted Draco up.

"You're home!" Draco threw his arms around Harry.

"Indeed." Harry carried his husband into the bedroom. He tried to set him on his feet, but Draco insisted on being laid down on the bed, wet trousers and all. Harry worked the button and zip and stripped the sodden fabric off. By the time he had Draco naked, the blond was asleep again.

FOUR HOURS LATER

"Hey, babe, wake up! We've still got reservations for the Buttered Kraken!" Harry flicked on the bedroom light.

Draco frowned blearily up at Harry. "The light's too loud and you're too bright."

"You're too hungover. Drink this. It'll make you feel better." Draco frowned harder at the sight of the green potion that Harry held out to him, but he took it, gagging a little at the taste. "So, we've got some strange messages today. Someone from an organization called Bareback Boys Video says, I quote, 'It's too bad you left early last night, but I would still like you to be in the next edition of "Bottom Busters".' What's that about?" Draco pretended not to hear. "Oh, and why would Molly think our marriage isn't going well? Greg says that he apologizes in advance for whatever Per is up to. What did you do to make him angry this time?"

"My mere existence makes Per angry." Having downed the potion, Draco looked a little less green.

"Oh, and when I went to wash your trousers, I found this stuck inside them." Harry held a hand out. In his palm was a rhinestoned artificial fingernail.

"The bloody hen party," Draco muttered.

Harry rolled Draco over and slapped him on the rear end. "Come on, gorgeous. Get dressed. I'm hungry. If we're late, they'll give our table away."

Draco stayed on his stomach, looking up slyly at Harry. "Maybe I want to be late. I missed you so much, Harry." He stretched sensually and lifted his rump in the air.

"Wow, that hangover cure works just as well as advertised." Harry shrugged. "If I slip the maitre d' enough Galleons, he'll still seat us." He unbuttoned his dress shirt and threw it on the dresser, then toed off his shoes and dropped his jeans, not bothering to take his socks off. "_Damn_, I missed you."

The story of what happened could wait; Harry could use his Auror tricks tomorrow, or the next day. Whenever he was sure Draco had forgiven him for leaving him alone.


	7. So What! oneshot

Trigger warning: Although this is a fluffy, happy-ending fic, there is a brief incident with a doesn't-know-what-no-means a-hole. He gets his, though.

This is a stand-alone story. HybridChaos suggested I do fics inspired by random songs off my iPod, and this is one of them. The title of the song, and this fic, is 'So What'. You can probably guess who did the song by the title and what happens in the story. This takes place in the Stray Cat universe shortly before Harry and Draco get Dawn.

...

Draco looked up at the grandfather clock for the fifteenth time in ten minutes and frowned. Harry should have been done with his shift by now, and he hadn't called to say that he would be working late. What was holding him up? "Don't make that face, dear," Draco's mother told him; "You don't want to get wrinkles, do you?"

Draco had reminded Harry about his mother's birthday party at least twenty times. But here it was, eight o'clock, two and a half hours after the party had started, and still no Harry. Lucius gave his son an 'I told you so' look. Draco picked up his fork, poked at his steak (bloody-rare, just how he liked it), looked at the empty chair beside him, and threw the fork down. He had lost his appetite.

His husband had been acting strange lately, Draco had to admit to himself. Harry hardly talked anymore, and he ignored Draco when he brought up the baby that the surrogate mother was going to give birth to any day now. _Their baby_. He had even shrugged off Draco's hands when he had tried giving a back rub yesterday. And they hadn't had sex in... Draco counted back... TWO WEEKS. That was _ridiculous_. They hadn't even been married a year. What could be wrong? Was... was Harry having an affair? The very thought made Draco drain his wine glass in one gulp, drawing a fretful look from his mother. No, of course Harry wasn't cheating on him. No one ever cheated on _Draco_. Draco was the ultimate package of looks, personality, style, and sexual adventurousness, so there was no reason for Harry to cheat.

Greg Goyle sat next to him in the seat that was supposed to be Harry's. "If you want, I can take care of Potter," he said in a low, menacing voice while cracking his knuckles.

"That won't be necessary, but it's so sweet of you to offer."

"Maybe you should get home, darling," his mother said, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're so worried about Harry that you're not having any fun at all." Lucius rolled his eyes. Draco made a round of the table to bid farewell to the party guests, then kissed his mother on the cheek before Flooing back to 12 Grimmauld Place.

Where he found Harry sound asleep in their bed, wearing those hideous Chudley Cannons pajamas that he'd gotten from Ron for Christmas. Draco drew his wand and hit Harry with a blast of cold air.

"Nrrrng!_ What the hell, Draco_? I was sleeping!"

Fists on his hips, Draco narrowed his eyes. "Where. Were. You."

"Oh, that birthday party thing? I was tired."

Harry tried to pull the covers over his head, but Draco tore them out of his hands and yanked them completely off the bed. "Don't try to hide! My _mother's _birthday party. I would go to _your _mother's birthday party, even if I was tired."

Harry sat up abruptly, hurled a pillow at the wall hard enough to make tufts of down fly out of it, and started yelling. "Do you have any idea how exhausting work can be? Of course you don't! You don't have a job! Every so often, you prance around in silly clothes while someone takes pictures of you!"

"You could have at least-"

"Bloody hell, you do realize that the universe doesn't revolve around you and your mother, don't you?"

"_Your _universe is_ supposed to _revolve around me. That's why you married me." Harry rubbed his face and mumbled something. "What was that?"

Harry dropped his hand and glared. "Maybe getting married was a mistake!"

Oh, this was going very, very badly. "You can't think that way, not with the ba-"

Harry startled him into silence with a gutteral roar. "The baby this, the baby that, the baby, the baby, _the baby_! How can you think of raising a child when you're nothing but a spoiled brat yourself? You know what? I've had enough of your crap!" Harry sprang from the bed and went rummaging through the closet. "I'm gone! This is over!"

Draco stared, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes as Harry dragged clothes on over his pajamas. How had things gone so wrong so quickly? "You can't leave your own house," he said lamely.

"You leave, then!"

"No!" Draco shouted back.

"Fine!" Harry crammed a few things in a duffle bag, slipped on a pair of loafers, and headed out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Draco stood frozen in place until the front door slammed shut. He sniffled a little, feeling like he was six years old. It was all too reminiscent of the times when his father would fly into rages, shouting at Draco and throwing things. He had never hit Draco during these fits, but his anger was frightening and hurtful, and Draco had always been so confused because he never, ever understood what set off the rages. What had just happened with Harry was uncomfortably similar to those times.

Draco played the scene over in his head, trying to untangle it, but it still made no sense. He desperately wanted to talk to his mother, but he didn't want to take her way from her birthday party. Perhaps he should go to Ron and Hermione's-that was surely where Harry had gone- and try to convince Harry to come home. Then his spine stiffened. Sadness and confusion was replaced with anger and defiance. Harry had left him? Harry had left _him_? No. No one _ever _left Draco. Draco did the leaving, _always._ Who did Harry think he was? Draco had been pursued by professional Quidditch players, famous Muggle actors, and half the members of the Weird Sisters. Harry should have been down on his knees begging to be taken back.

Well, if _this_ was how Harry wanted it, then Draco would take advantage of being a single man again. It was a little after ten p.m. on Friday-the night was just beginning. To make his father happy, Draco had gone with a conservative look for the party. He shed the plain gray robes, then stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror to apply smudgy eye-liner and put his facial piercings back in. He untied his hair, shaking it loose and tousling it, and used a quick spell to add red and black streaks. He headed for the closet in one of the spare bedrooms and pulled out clothes he hadn't worn since before his wedding. After months of Harry-enforced work-outs, they were too small to fit over his new muscles, but another spell took care of that. The low-slung, snake-skin print trousers that laced up the crotch looked like they had painted on him. The silk tee shirt ended just below his navel, leaving his hip-lines exposed. A pair of big, black platform boots completed the ensemble.

Draco stood before the full-length mirror and struck a pose, pouting sexily. Oh, yes, he certainly still had it. The Muggles in the gay clubs wouldn't know what hit them. But, no... Not Muggle clubs. Draco was back in the wizarding world, and he was going to go to a _wizard _club.

He clomped down the the kitchen, ignoring the house elves, and tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. "Is That A Wand in Your Pocket!"

The club was playing some sort of inadequate wizard version of techno. Instead of strobe lights, there were crystal globes lit by small flashes of magically-generated lightning. Colorful bubbles floated near the ceiling, holding luminescent fairies; some of the drunker patrons were attempting to pop the bubbles with darts. As soon as Draco strutted out of the fireplace, every set of eyeballs in the place swiveled in his direction. There were some likely prospects, but Draco would force them to make the first move; Harry was the only man that Draco had ever thrown himself at, and, well, look how _that _had ended. Draco tossed his hair back as he approached the bar. "Firewhiskey," he told the bartender as he leaned on the counter, sticking his rump up in the air.

The bartender, a middle-aged man with a hand-rolled cigarette dangling from his lips, gave Draco a tired look. "You're trouble," he said flatly as he poured a shot.

Draco laid a Galleon on the bar and tossed the shot back. "Another." He wiggled his bottom in time to the insipid music. Another shot was slammed down in front of him, and he threw that one back, too. As he downed a third, a voice snarled in his ear. "Who the bloody hell do you think you are, parading around in that get-up and sticking your arse up in the air like a cat in heat? I suppose you think you're _special_."

"I don't think, I _know_." Draco raked his eyes scornfully over the poorly-dressed specimen in front of him: short-sleeved dress shirt, bow-tie, pleated khakis. "Was your boyfriend checking me out? That's why you're upset, right? Maybe if you gave him something to look at, his eyes wouldn't wander so much."

Harry had taught Draco some useful things. Like how to tell when someone was about to throw a punch, for one, and how to dodge it. And how to give a good, bell-ringing punch in return. Khaki Pants went down, but he sprang back up and got Draco on the chin. Draco kneed the man in the stomach and shoved him into a table, which splintered beneath him. Another man came at Draco, screaming and swinging a chair; he must have been Khaki-and-Bowtie's boyfriend. Draco sidestepped, and the man crashed the chair into the dart-board. Draco's heart was pounding. He grinned as adrenaline flooded his body. It was his first bar brawl, and it was _fun_. Khaki-and-Bowtie was on his feet again and charging like a maddened bull. Draco kicked out with one of his enormous boots.

_Bzzt_! Draco was hit by a shocking hex that made his hair stand on end. He managed to keep from falling on the floor by clutching at the bar. The bartender was livid, baring his teeth as he brandished his wand. "GET-OUT-OF-MY-PLACE," he growled. "I don't want to see you or those trousers ever again!"

"Some people just don't know how to have fun," Draco retorted. He started toward the door in a cocky saunter, but sped up when he noticed the bartender flicking his wand; another hex just barely missed his bottom.

Out on the street, Draco considered where to go next. Is That A Wand In Your Pocket was the only exclusively gay night-spot in Diagon Alley, but there were other clubs where he could could still have a good time, and maybe find someone fit. He strutted down the street to a place that catered to wizards who preferred things a bit more Muggle-style. The place was hopping, the dance floor filled with sweat-sheened bodies. Once again, his entrance drew stares. He tossed back two shots of whiskey and headed out under the strobes.

A bikini-clad go-go dancer left her cage for a break and Draco hopped up on the platform. The deejay spun a Muggle song with a sexy beat. Draco took hold of the bars of the cage and threw his head back, writhing and singing along: _You're a sinner I don't care, I just want your creamy thighs. _Bump, grind, bump, grind-he really worked his hips. When he looked down, he saw that he had an appreciative audience. It had been so long since he'd been the center of attention like this. He leaned back against the bars and put a finger in his mouth, running his other hand up his stomach as he gave his best smoldering look, the one that had gotten him that perfume ad campaign. He pushed his shirt up briefly, giving just a glimpse of his nipple rings. "Where else are you pierced, blondie?" someone hollered.

"_Get out of my cage_!" The go-go dancer was back, and she looked none too pleased. Even her sequins looked angry. As if it was _his _fault that he was a better dancer. And sexier, too.

The second he left the cage, a tall, well-muscled man put a thick arm around him. "Dance?" he said into Draco's ear, his breath hot. Draco smiled into that handsome, square-jawed face and put his arms around the man's neck. _He might do for a forget-my-arsehole-husband shag,_ Draco thought. The man had azure blue eyes, killer cheekbones, and long chestnut hair caught back in a ponytail. Draco had gotten much stronger since he had started working out, but his strength was nothing compared to the power he could feel in his dance partner's body. As they moved together to the beat of the music, Draco tried to imagine wrapping his legs around the man's waist, but, oddly, his mind didn't seem to be able to form the image.

After grinding with him for a few more songs, the man steered Draco into a dark corner beneath a metal staircase. He pushed Draco against the rough cinder block wall and took a kiss. Draco grimaced. It didn't feel right at all. "Let's dance some more," he said.

"I've had enough dancing." The man went in for another kiss, but Draco blocked it with one hand. "What do you think you're playing at, dressing like that and dancing like that and then acting like a damn virgin? I hate teases!" The man grabbed Draco by the hair and forced another kiss. Then he yelped. "_What the hell_?"

"No means no, arsehole." Harry was standing there, wand aimed directly at the man's nether regions.

"What's it to you? Mind your own business!" The man went to reach for his own wand, but Harry performed an Expelliarmus.

"Number one," Harry said, "it's what any _decent _person would do, not that _you_ would know anything about that. And number two, that's my husband you're abusing."

The man sneered. "He's not acting very married. You need to learn how to keep him in line. If he was mine, I wouldn't let him get away with it." He let out a most unmanly squeal when Harry hit him with a stinging hex that instantly made his face swell up like a over-filled water balloon.

Harry took Draco by the wrist, pulling him out from under the stairs, across the dance floor, and back out onto the street; he was cursing loudly and creatively all the while. "I'm sorry," Draco said, suddenly tearful. He didn't know what he was apologizing for, exactly. It was exactly what he had done when his father had flown into one of his inexplicable rages: he had just said anything he could that might make the shouting stop.

"Oh, Draco, I'm not yelling at you!" Harry stopped abruptly and pulled Draco into his arms. "I'm yelling at myself. _I'm _the sorry one. I've been a complete arse." Harry buried his face in Draco's hair. "I've been acting like an idiot for weeks. Can you forgive me?"

Draco molded himself against Harry, so relieved that he wasn't sure he would ever stop crying. "Tell me what's wrong." He put his hands on Harry's back, taking in its warmth and strength, and inhaled the scent that was his husband's alone. Yes, he forgave Harry. He would always forgive Harry.

Curious passersby stared at the famous Harry Potter and his husband as they leaned against each other in the street. Harry let out his breath loudly and pulled back so he could look Draco in the eye. "The idea of having a baby frightened me. I-I'm not sure I've got what it takes to be a good parent. It's not like I grew up with the best examples."

"But you're so good with Teddy."

"Yeah, but I only have him one day out of the week. It's different when it's your own child, and you can't just give it back if you're not in the mood to deal with it."

"We'll have a nanny for that."

"I guess. There's just a part of me that worries that I'll be like Uncle Vernon."

A little bubble of laughter escaped Draco's lips. He had seen the man briefly; the idea of Harry being _anything _like that odious creature was ridiculous. "It'll never happen."

"I know that in the rational part of my mind. It's just that the irrational part has been awfully noisy lately." Harry kissed Draco on the forehead. "I'm working on it. If you let me come home, I'll be good, I swear."

"Mm. I suppose I can allow you back into your own house. How did you find me in that club, anyway?"

"I got an anonymous message about your little performance. So you danced in a go-go cage. Somehow, I'm not surprised." Harry grinned. "I wish I could have seen it, actually."

Draco slid his hands down to Harry's bottom and gave him a hot-eyed look. "I'll give you a private demonstration," he said huskily as he pressed his pelvis against Harry's.

Harry laughed. "Slow down a little. We're attracting a audience."

Draco ignored the drunks that were watching them. He knew that, even though he couldn't see it in the dim light of the moon, Harry would be blushing a little; he still turned red when Draco got frisky with him in public. "We haven't had sex in _two weeks_, Harry." A couple on on-lookers snickered.

"Let's fix that." Harry held Draco tight with one arm as he Apparated them into their bedroom. He turned on the radio alarm clock that sat on the bedside table and tuned it to a pop station playing a Britney Spears song. He kicked off his shoes, reclined on the bed with his hands behind his head, and smirked. "Dance for me, beautiful."


	8. The Moaning Myrtle Incident oneshot

Another one-shot from the 'Stray Cat' universe-this takes place in the first Christmas season after Dawn's birth.

...

Draco pulled Harry out of the Great Hall. "Where are we going?" Harry asked.

"You'll see." Draco pushed Harry up against the wall just outside the Great Hall doors and pressed up against him, licking his neck.

"Coming back to Hogwarts has gotten you all worked up." Harry didn't mind, but they were starting to get noticed.

"It's all the fantasies I had about you when we were in school. Now I know I can make any them come true. And also knowing we won't be interrupted by our darling daughter." Draco put one thigh between Harry's and and writhed against Harry's hip. An elderly witch was giving them a nasty look. "It's all right, we're married," Draco told her. She didn't seem impressed.

Hogwarts was having a Winter Solstice celebration, and all alumni were invited. The Masquerade Ball, which had started at midnight and was to go till dawn, was in full swing in the Great Hall. Draco had come up with the idea of being Winter, and Harry being Spring. Draco wore white satin robes, and he'd done something to his hair to make it glisten like fresh-fallen snow. His eyes flirted with Harry through a white velvet domino mask on which little sparkling snowflakes swirled. Harry's robes were green silk; his velvet mask was the same color, with falling silver raindrops. Having flowers in his hair wasn't Harry's usual style, but Draco insisted the costume wouldn't make sense without them. Harry had to believe him. After all, Draco was the muse of the most exclusive designer of robes in the wizarding world.

Draco nipped Harry's ear. "I can tell you did like I told you and didn't wear anything under your robes."

"Pretty soon, everyone is going to know."

Laughing, Draco put an arm around Harry's waist and put put a hand over Harry's eyes. "Come along." He steered Harry toward who-knows-what.

Harry blinked when he was able to see again, and not just because the lights hurt his dark-adapted eyes a little. "Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

Draco shoved him into a stall. Harry's calves hit the toilet, and he helf-fell onto the seat. "Just where I wanted you, Potter," Draco sneered in the tone of voice he'd used on Harry back during their school days. "Don't even try to deny that you want it."

Harry bit the insides of his lips, because he knew it irritated Draco when he grinned like a fool during sexy role-playing.

"You wouldn't want the world to know what a little tart the Chosen One is, would you," Draco drawled as he kneeled in front of Harry.

A high-pitched titter made Harry look up. Moaning Myrtle had her chin in her hands and her elbows propped on the top of the stall door. "Brought in a new boy, Blondie? But your positions are reversed."

"She likes to watch. She died a virgin, poor thing." Draco started pushing Harry's robes up.

"Ooh, you're a naughty boy, Harry Potter," Myrtle giggled.

Harry couldn't stop staring up at the leering ghost girl. "I... really don't think I can perform with her staring. And talking. And laughing."

"Then we'll switch." Draco yanked Harry out of the stall. He whined like a cranky two-year-old every time Harry made him lift weights, but he certainly didn't mind using the strength he'd gained from working out. Sitting down, he gave Harry his most supercilious Malfoy expression. "Get down on your knees like a good slut, Potter."

When he obeyed, Harry heard another snicker from Myrtle. He placed his hands on Draco's knees and looked up. "Doesn't she bother you at all?" Draco's pupils were dilated, and his cheeks were flushed. Harry's eyes widened. "_You like it_. You _like _being watched while having sex, don't you. And you call me a tart?" Draco smiled lecherously and started pulling up his robes. The sight of his husband's perfect thighs made Harry forget the ghost's presence for a few seconds, but she couldn't hold back an excited squeak when the white satin robes were lifter higher. Harry let out an exasperated huff. "I don't think I can do this with her here."

"The big, dumb boy didn't care," Myrtle said.

Harry frowned. He'd be damned if he'd let _Goyle_ be Draco's best memory of this bathroom. Doing his best to ignore Myrtle's giggles, he started nibbling on the insides of Draco's thighs. He was going to use every trick he knew, and perhaps a few new ones that he'd invent on the spot.

Afterwards, Draco pulled Harry up for a deep kiss. "You were _amazing_. I'm going to do something really special for you." The bathroom door opened, and there were whispers and muffled laughs. "But somewhere else, I suppose." On their way out, the two passed Goyle and his Draco-look-alike husband. Myrtle clapped her hands at the prospect of another show.

In the corridor, Draco pulled Harry to him and groped his bottom. "I'll do whatever you want, wherever you want."

"Mmm... good." Harry nipped at Draco's earlobe. "But first, you're going to finally tell me that damned Moaning Myrtle incident story."

"I thought you hated hearing about Goyle and me."

"My curiosity has overwhelmed my distaste."

"All right, then." Draco pulled away a little so he could look at Harry's face while he spoke. "You know how Myrtle hates have things tossed through her, right?"

"All too well."

"Well, it was during fourth year. Goyle and I were... experimenting. We took our clothes off and fooled around a little. Myrtle got a little too close and touched Goyle, making him jump away from me at a... climactic moment, and-"

Harry was laughing. "Oh, no, you didn't!"

"Right through her eye. She started screaming bloody murder, and there was a group of Ravenclaws passing by, and you know they're the_ worst _gossips. They came in and found us completely naked, with Myrtle shrieking about what filthy boys we were, and within a day, everyone at Hogwarts knew we were gay. Except for you, apparently."

"Well, to be fair, I didn't know that _I_ was gay, either."

"I'm glad you finally figured it out." Draco bit Harry's lower lip. "So, what do you want me to do now?"

Harry told him what he wanted Draco to do for him on the Astronomy Tower.

"Oh, you are _dirty_."

And so the longest night of the year did not seem very long at all.


	9. Stressed Cat, Quarantined oneshot

Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild swearing, very brief and mild suggestiveness. Babies. Oh, and you may not want to read this while eating.

This takes place in my 'Stray Cat, Pierced' universe, but you should be able to follow along if you haven't read it. Harry and Draco are married, and Lucius bought them babies from surrogate mothers to satisfy his desire for an heir and Narcissa's craving to be a grandmother.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling, and I just play around in it for fun.

...

Draco was laying on the couch in his PJs while Dawn sat on the floor singing along to the 'Spongebob Squarepants' theme song. The newest addition to the family was being fussy, so Draco laid the newborn on his chest where the baby could hear his heartbeat. It was a trick that had worked many times with Dawn.

Lucius had finally gotten the male heir that he'd wanted. Through a combination of wizard and Muggle arts, Draco had somehow sired a child with a woman in Romania without having to leave home. He didn't bother asking for details; they would probaby be boring. He and Harry had gone to fetch the baby from Bucharest after taking time out for a romantic getaway in a charming wizard village in the Carpathian mountains.

As per the agreement drawn up between Draco, his father, and Harry, Lucius got to choose the child's name in exchange for arranging and paying for the whole thing. Harry had thrown a fit when Lucius had pronounced that his grandson would be named Ophiuchus, a name selected for some arcane astrological reason. "Offy-_what_? You must be joking!" Hary had shouted.

Lucius had drawn himself up to his full height and glared at Harry. "It is a perfectly respectable ancestral name. My great-great-great-great-grandfather's name was Ophiuchus," he had sniffed. Harry got his revenge. He had selected Ophiuchus' nickname: Opie. It made Lucius grind his teeth; he persisted in calling the baby by his full name. Harry was convinced that Lucius did it just to show off, since he seemed to be the only person who could actually pronounce it.

Opie was still fussing. Draco noticed that his chubby little cheeks looked flushed and put a hand on his son's forehead to check for a fever. "Aren't you feeling good, jelly bean?" Opie grunted. Draco knew what _that _sound meant. He loved his babies, but he hated dealing with the effluvia that issued from them. "Marlena! Opie needs changing!" The nanny, a plump, fiftyish woman who'd been helping to raise Pure-blood children for decades, scooped Opie up and headed for the nursery. A minute later, Draco heard a scream and the _CRACK_ of Apparition. "Marlena? Marlena, what's going on?"

Opie lay naked on the changing table, and the nanny was nowhere to be seen. What did the old cow think she was doing? She hadn't even cleaned up poor little Opie! Draco got his wand and, stifling a gag, used one of Molly Weasley's cleaning charms. He noticed some coin-sized blue spots on Opie's tummy. Bruises? Another blue spot appeared right before Draco's eyes. And another. And another. "_HarryHarrycomehererightnowHa rry!" _

Harry's moaning preceded him. He appeared in the nursery doorway, clutching his head and stomach. "I don't feel so good, Draco." He was shirtless, and there were blue spots all over him.

Draco let out a horrified gasp. This was _not _the sort of thing he was good at coping with. "HarryHarryHarry, what do I do?" Mother. He needed Mother _right now_.

"St. Mungo's," Harry said just before he threw up.

All right. That was a plan of action. Draco quickly got Opie diapered and swaddled.

THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD. There was a thunder of feet coming up the stairs. "We're from the Ministry! Don't move!" Three people paused just outside the nursery, wands drawn and aimed. They were covered from head to foot in some sort of rubberized uniform, and their heads were hidden under cowls and gas-masks. "One Marlena Morgenstern has reported a case of Carpathian Elf Measles. Your house elves have been removed for their own protection, and you are now under quarantine from the wizarding world."

Draco went from panicked to outraged. He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes. "How can Harry and the baby have Elf Measles? They are obviously not elves. And how dare you barge into _my_ house and threaten me?"

"All magic-users are suseptible, but it's nearly one-hundred percent fatal in house elves. You are not to come in contact with any other wizards for at least a month. You may not even use owls for communication. Give us your wand."

"What?! No!"

"You'll get it back. We just need to put a trace on it to make sure you don't Apparate while you're under quarantine." Draco just stood there glaring, using what he knew was his most Lucius-like expression. "You won't like it if we have to search for it ourselves. His, too." The speaker indicated Harry, who had crawled onto Dawn's bed and put a pillow over his head.

"Fine," Draco snapped. He picked up Opie and headed to his and Harry's bedroom.

The Ministry workers kept their distance. When Draco fetched Harry's wand from a high shelf, he was ordered to set both wands on the floor and back away. A Ministry man picked them up and headed down the stairs. "Don't get too close!" he barked when Draco started to follow.

"I'm going to keep an eye on what you're doing to our wands. I don't trust masked people who invade my home and frighten my children." Draco had thought he was angry before, but it was nothing compared to what he felt as he saw a fourth Ministry employee inspecting a hysterical Dawn.

"Should we take the girl for her own protection, boss?" one of the first three asked. Draco tensed and opened his mouth, ready to scream down the house.

The man terrifying Dawn shook his masked head. "She's likely exposed already, and though it's awful, it's usually not fatal in humans under the age of forty. Give me those wands. _Apparat Vestigium_. There." The wands were set down on the coffee table. The four Ministry people trooped downstairs to the kitchen, ignoring all of Draco's angry questions. _Poof_. A green flash, and they were gone.

Oh, Merlin, what to do now? Draco grabbed a hand of Floo powder, intending to firecall his mother, but before he could do so a red envelope popped out of the fireplace. "_Your connection to the Floo network is limited. It may now be used only by the Ministry to send you supplies,_" the howler boomed.

ONE HOUR LATER

Draco stared at the coffe table in dismay. What had happened to the wands? "Dawn? Sweetheart? What did you do with the magic sticks? You know you're not supposed to play with them." _Damn_. Opie needed changing again, and there was still Harry's mess in the nursery. Dawn didn't say a word. She seemed to have been struck mute by the visit from the Ministry men. She just kept humming tunelessly and scribbling in her 'Hogwarts Happy-Time' coloring book. Draco set Opie down in his crib and tore all through the house, dumping drawers onto the floor, moving furniture away from the walls and crawling under beds. By the time he was done, he was sweaty and crusted with dust-bunnies, but he hadn't found any wands.

Left taking care of an infant and a three-year-old all by himself. No nanny. No house elves. No wands. _No Mother_. Draco was starting to panic again. He dialled Hermione's cell.

"Draco, I can't talk long," Hermione said when she answered. "But I think I should tell you, your mother was caught trying to come to your house, and she's in custody now for the sake of her own health. A woman her age shouldn't be exposed to Elf Measles. Now, I've got to go."

"WAITDON'THANGUP!"

"What?"

"Tell the Ministry to send help! I can't take care of two babies all by myself."

Hermione heaved a sigh. "Draco, women do it all the time, and many of them hold down full-time jobs, too."

"But women are born knowing how to do that sort of thing. Because you've got the... uteri and all that mess."

"GOODBYE." _Click._

Damn. Why were women so touchy all the time? Draco was _so_ glad to be gay. Oh, _double damn_. Draco still had no one to help him. The panic started to bubble up in his belly again.

Wait a minute. Muggles had nannies, too, right? Draco picked up the phone and dialled information.

FIVE HOURS LATER

The Muggle nanny was young, pretty, and Eastern European. She looked Draco up and down, obviously not impressed with a dirty, rumpled man still wearing pajamas in the afternoon, or by the stinky, screaming infant in his arms.

"Thank Me-thank God you're here," Draco said as he steered her into the house. The nanny's face scrunched up when she saw the mess left over from Draco's unsuccessful search for the wands. "Come on, I need your help upstairs."

The girl pulled a small canister out of her pocket. "You try anything funny, I pepper spray you."

"I'm holding a baby, for crying out loud, and I'm not even remotely interested in women!"

The girl relaxed a little when she saw Dawn peeking at her from the kitchen stairs, but she put the pepper spray away reluctantly. Upstairs, she said something rude-sounding in her native tongue when she saw Harry's... mess.

"Could you clean that up, please?" Draco asked.

"I am not maid!"

"But you're still a servant, " Draco said imperiously.

"Give me baby," the girl demanded. She took Opie and unwrapped him. Her eyes went big when she saw the blue spots and she made the sign of the cross.

"He's sick, not possessed!"

That was when Opie vomited a gout of green slime. The girl squeaked and backed away in horror. Draco watched in disbelief as she ran out of the nursery and down the stairs. The front door slammed a moment later.

TWENTY-NINE HOURS LATER

"Why don't you ever answer your phone?" Draco whined.

"I just answered it, didn't I? There's no time to talk right now. Make it fast," Hermione said.

"Tell the Ministry to send clean nappies! I've had to start putting Harry's tee shirts on Opie."

"Use a cleaning charm."

"I can't. Dawn did something with both of our wands and now I can't find them."

"You left both wands where a three-year-old could get hold of them? Have you no common sense?"

"Why are you so nasty today?"

"This measles outbreak is making everyone crazy. Look, I have to go." There were shouts in the background.

"So are you going to tell the Ministry to send nappies?"

"You're two minutes away from a corner shop! Go buy some disposables! _Hey, you there_! Surrender your house elves peacefully or I'll stun you!"

"They have those? Disposable nappies?"

"How can you not know that?"

"Why would I?"

Hermione screamed in frustration and hung up.

ONE-HUNDRED SIXTY-TWO HOURS LATER

It was a week into the quarantine, Harry and Opie were both still sick, and Draco was a frazzled, sleep-deprived, unbathed wreck. The Ministry was good about sending regular shipments of food and medicinal herbs and baby formula, but they didn't send things like clean sheets, clean towels, and clean clothes. There was a malodorous pile stuffed into the pantry, threatening to spill out into the kitchen. Draco was going to have to do something he'd never done before-_laundry_.

"Harry? Harry? Harry?"

Harry peered out from under his pillow. His eyes were squinched up into tiny slits. He looked terrible, but at least his spots were fading away. "Mmmf?" he moaned.

"How do you do laundry?"

"I showed you before."

"I wasn't paying attention because it was boring. And Malfoys don't do laundry."

"How can you not know how to use a washing machine when you know how to use a Play Station and a Rampant Rabbit and a microwave?"

"Because those are _fun_. Especially the Rabbit."

"Just go to the laundrette and watch other people do it." Harry pulled the pillow back over his head.

ONE-HUNDRED SIXTY-THREE HOURS LATER

Draco headed out with a plastic trash bag full of clothes loaded into Dawn's red wooden wagon. He had Opie on his back in a Baby Bjorn, Dawn by the hand, and a jeans pocket full of change. Fortunately, the laundrette was only a couple of blocks down the street. Merlin, it was still as horrid as it had been when Harry had tried to teach him to do laundry. Greasy front windows, an earwax-colored floor, plastic chairs bolted to the wall. A woman in too-tight short-shorts was loading clothes into a metal box. "Is that a washing machine?" Draco asked her. The woman pulled her laundry back out into her basket and moved to the opposite side of the room without speaking. "That was rude!"

Draco took his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open."Draco, I told you, this really isn't a good time," Hermione said when she picked up. "You have no idea how what it's like out here."

"I just need you to tell me how to do laundry. I'm at the laundrette."

"You were out in the Muggle world for a year! How can you not know how to do laundry?"

"I was with a _rich_ Muggle. You don't have to do laundry when you're staying in a hotel penthouse suite in Cannes."

"Oh, for-do you have soap?"

"Soap?"

"Laundry detergent. Washing powder. _Soap_, Draco."

"Um, no. I need that?"

"Yes, just like when you wash dishes."

"I've never done that."

Hermione sighed. "I shouldn't be surprised, I really shouldn't. Anyway, there should be a vending machine on the wall that sells little packets of soap. How's Harry doing? Oh, hold on. Yes, it's Malfoy. No, you can't catch a disease through a cell phone. Because you can't!" Hermione screamed. "If you hit me with another disinfecting charm-AUGH!" The call was cut off. Draco frantically redialled, but he just got Hermione's voice mail.

Wait, where was... "Dawn? _Dawn_?" He looked around the laundrette frantically.

"She's in a dryer," the woman called from across the room. "If you can't keep your chldren under control, they should be with their mother. Or maybe with the proper authorities, what with you being homeless."

Draco gave the woman his Malfoy attitude, hands on hips. "Homeless? Hardly. My husband and I could buy and sell you. My father could buy and sell you, the hovel you call home, and all the other low-class swine in your family."

"Which is why you're here doing your own laundry and looking like you've lived in a sewer for a year," the woman jeered.

"There is nothing wrong with the way I look! I've modelled for 'Men's Vogue'."

"Must have been a long time ago. You look like a dog's breakfast, and that shirt is hideous."

It was the first clean shirt he'd been able to find that morning, a long-sleeved lavender tee with a decal of a rather demented-looking cat on the front-Teddy's idea of high fashion. "Why, you impertinent-it was a gift! And those shorts make your thighs look like sausages and your arse-" Draco was interrupted by a familiar grunt coming from behind him. Thank Morgana he had remembered to bring an extra nappie. He pulled Dawn out of the dryer and headed for the restrooms. He opened the mens' door and immediately slammed it shut again. One could not be expected to attend to one's childrens' needs in such a small and unsanitary space. Draco peeked out into the main area of the laundrette. No one seemed to be watching him, so he snuck into the women's restroom. It was marginally cleaner and, huzzah, it had a fold-out changing table attached to the wall.

Draco was taping Opie's clean diaper securely (there had been a few messy mishaps when he had first started using the disposables, so he was very, _very_ careful now) when he caught sight of a vagrant in the bathroom mirror. He grabbed Opie and held him protectively, and the vagrant also picked up... Opie. Oh, no, _it couldn't be_.

Draco's hair was gathered up into an off-center, bedraggled pony-tail on the top of his head. When had he washed it last? He couldn't remember. The last time he'd seen that much grease, he gotten a particularly nasty batch of fish and chips. His eyes were dull and flat, with dark circles underneath. His complection had a grayish tinge to it, his nose was greasy, and were those blackheads? _Were those lines in his forehead_? He gave an unhappy moan. "_I'm not pretty._"

Oh, no. _Harry had seen him like this_. Dammit, he should have 'borrowed' some concealer and blush the last time he had ransacked Hermione's make-up case. It was _embarassing_ to look this awful. Especially now that some tarty little eighteen-year-old twink with a pierced navel had just moved in down the street. It was sickening, the way he was always flaunting himself around Harry-

BAM BAM BAM. "You taking a bath in there, Prince Charming?" It was that wretched woman again. Draco looked down his nose at her when he left the restroom, but his confidence was too shaken for him to be able to do it well.

All right, forget the irritating woman, and forget that he looked like something out of those zombie movies that Harry loved so much. Soap. It needed to be found. Draco located the vending machine, but it had an 'out of order' sign taped to it. Another woman had come into the laundrette, and Draco approached her. "Do you have soap?" he asked.

The woman backed up a few feet. "No."

"But you have to have soap to do laundry."

"I don't have any." The woman fumbled around in her laundry basket, covering up a brightly-covered box.

"Do you know where I can get soap?"

The woman backed up further and looked at him like he was an axe murderer.

"The supermarket, Prince Charming," the first woman called. "You a time traveller or something?"

ONE-HUNDRED SIXTY-FOUR HOURS LATER

Draco had left the bag of laundry behind so he could pull Dawn in the wagon. The supermarket wasn't that far away, but it would be too much for her short little legs. The doors snicked open for Draco and his family. Other shoppers stared and kept their distance. Draco had been here several times before, but there were vast swaths of the supermarket that he had never had any interest in seeing. He meandered through aisle after aisle, wondering if he would recognize what he was looking for if he saw it. Oh-he hadn't noticed the signs hanging from the ceiling before. He found one that said 'Laundry' and headed down that aisle.

His eyes were assaulted by hundreds and hundreds of brightly colored boxes and bottles. Fairy Concentrated Fabric Conditioner. Ariel Stain Remover. Daz Liquitabs. Bold Crystal Rain. Draco chewed on a cuticle as his eyes darted around. How was he to choose? He tried to remember the telly commercials he had seen for laundry products, but all he could recall was that they all seemed to use the words 'new and improved'. If he used the wrong kind, would something terrible happen, like if one used eye of toad instead of eye of newt in a potion?

"Daddy?" Dawn whined. She tried to climb out of the wagon.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Draco knelt down, and she put her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

"I don't feel good. _Blurk_." She vomited down the front of Draco's shirt.

That was it. Draco had reached his limit. A week's worth of stress and lack of sleep and cleaning up ick and then being vomited on in a supermarket aisle full of things he didn't understand had reduced him to a great quivering pile of misery. He sank down on the cold linoleum floor and bawled. Dawn wailed in his arms. Opie squawled.

"Ahem." Sniffling, Draco looked up. A man wearing an apron was standing slightly more than an arm's-length away from Draco. "Would you like me to call your... doctor? Therapist?"

"I'm not mental!" Well, that would have sounded more convincing without the sobs. "I'm just having a bad week!"

"Ah, all right, if you say so." The man was speaking in the sort of soothing tones one used for children and pets.

"I just want to do my laundry! I just need _soap_!"

"Oh, erm, what kind of detergent?"

"_I don't bloody know_! What is it with you people? Why must you have so many kinds of... everything?"

"Um, here. This is the store brand, so it's inexpensive." The man put a plastic bucket in the wagon.

"I'm not poor! My father owns a chain of apothecaries and a vineyard!"

"If you say so. Let's get you to the check-out lanes."

ONE-HUNDRED SIXTY-FIVE HOURS LATER

"Where's my laundry? Did someone steal it?"

"The laundrette manager thought it was garbage," said the horrid woman in the short-shorts.

"You didn't stop him?"

The woman looked at him and got red in the face. "I ought to call the police on you, being all sloppy drunk when you've got little ones with you!"

"What?! I'm not drunk!"

"Sober men don't toddle about with sick down the front of their shirts."

"It's not my vomit!"

"That's almost worse," said a familiar voice. Harry had pulled on a pair of jeans, but he still wore a wrinkled pajama top. His hair, which was even greasier than Draco's, was flattened on one side and sticking straight up on the other. His eyes were puffy and his face was blotchy, but he looked wonderful to Draco. Harry unsuccessfully tried to side-step when Draco went in for a hug. He grimaced. "Ugh, it's _cold_. But I suppose warm vomit isn't any better."

"You came!" Draco started crying again, this time with relief.

"I had a feeling you needed rescuing again."

"So that's your rich husband, Prince Charming?" the woman jeered. "A regular Richard Branson, he is!"

"I'm so pathetic," Draco sobbed.

"I just can't resist a cute, helpless creature. Even a vomit-covered one," Harry said.

"I'm only helpless fifty percent of the time."

"The other fifty percent, you're just hopeless."

ONE-HUNDRED SIXTY-EIGHT HOURS LATER

The laundry had been retrieved from an alley trash bin, washed, dried, and brought home. Harry kept an eye on the children while Draco drew a hot bath. Draco added lemon-scented oil to the water, washed and conditioned his hair, and smeared a mud mask on his face. He put cucumber slices over his eyes and promptly fell asleep. When he woke up, the water was cold. Draco rinsed his face and looked into the mirror to see if he looked pretty again. What he saw was spots. Lots and lots of blue spots.

Oh, no. Poor Harry.

Ophiucus is pronounced off-ih-YOU-cuss, and, yes, Lucius should be beaten for giving that name to a baby. Ophiucus is a constellation, and it also means 'serpent holder'.


	10. Bake Sale

AUGUST 31, 2009

Dawn was spending the day with the ever-expanding horde of Weasley grandbabies, and Opie was down for his nap. Harry's day was free. "Take the rest of the day off," Draco told the nanny. The woman gave him a knowing smirk and Apparated away. Kreacher and Posy knew instinctively when to make themselves scarce, of course, like any half-way decent house elf would.

Harry was sprawled on the couch watching 'Dr. Who'. Draco shucked his clothes quickly and got on all fours on the floor in front of his husband: chest down, rump up. "Very subtle," Harry said dryly.

"We don't have time for subtlety. Do you know how long it's been since we've had sex during the day? Ten months and six days." Draco wiggled his bottom.

"You keep track of that?"

"Of course." Draco smiled over his shoulder at Harry kittenishly. "Are you going to join me, or do I have to do this myself?"

Harry was just starting to undo his belt buckle when Narcissa's voice drifted up from the kitchen. "Boys! I have wonderful news!"

Harry used some of the creative swear-words he had learned from the other Aurors. "I'm going to board that fireplace up. I really, truly am."

Draco scrambled for his clothes, and was just pulling his jeans on when his parents came into the room. The older coupled exchanged amused looks as their son hurriedly zipped himself up. "You two still act like a couple of newlyweds," Narcissa said coyly.

Seated on the couch again, Harry made an exasperated noise. "Well, we were trying to."

Narcissa sat beside him and patted him on the shoulder. "This is big news. Dawn and Opie have both been accepted into the Wee Wizards Academy! Opie will be in the pre-school program, of course, with other three-year-olds. Dawn will have to be tested to see what grade she'll be placed in. I'm sure she'll do well. She has her papa's brains."

Harry frowned in perplexity. "We never applied to a school, did we, hon?" He looked at Draco, who just shrugged.

"I took the liberty of applying for you," Narcissa replied. Lucius made the small noise that he used to signaled disgust; he was far too refined to snort. Narcissa smiled indulgently. "Grandfather does not approve of the new schools for younger wizard children."

"Home tutoring was good enough for the rest of us," Lucius harrumphed.

"Yes, well, progress happens, dear. If we don't get our grandchildren into the best school, they will be at a disadvantage socially and academically."

"I'm sure that Granger girl is behind this. Nothing but a trouble-maker, that one is." Lucius fixed Harry with a glare, as if he was to blame for what his friend got up to.

"Yes, I agree, it's terrible how she's dragged the wizarding world kicking and screaming into the nineteenth century," Harry said, imitating Lucius' drawl. The older man narrowed his eyes.

Narcissa turned to her son. "It's a good thing you don't work, dear. Wee Wizards expects a lot from its students' moth-primary parents."

"I still work," Draco interjected. He was ignored.

"Now, orientation is tomorrow morning. You'll need to be there at eight o'clock sharp. Make sure you make a good impression. We've got to go now. I'm a little tired and want to get a nap in before we play whist with Amalthea and her new boyfriend."

"Golly, I wonder who will win," Harry muttered. Greg Goyle's mother had a taste for stupid men.

There was a flurry of air kisses, and Narcissa and Lucius were gone. "Now, where were we?" Draco started to undo his jeans. That was when Opie started to wail, the way he always did when he woke from a nap. "Ten months and a week," Draco sighed.

"I'm not going to board up the fireplace," Harry mused. "I think the way to go is to build a large underground aquarium beneath it and stock it with man-eating sharks."

SEPTEMBER 1, 2009

"You're wearing _that_?"

Draco frowned at Harry. "Why? What's wrong with it?"

"You're going to be with housewives, not fashion journalists. It's a bit much."

"You think so?" Draco had on an exquisitely tailored suit (dove gray with hints of purple) over a lavender silk shirt with a couple buttons undone. He slipped the suit jacket off and popped a couple more buttons. "How's that?"

"Perfect, if you're offering your services as a gigolo. How about this?" Harry held out a pair of sweatpants and a Chudley Cannons tee shirt.

Draco stared at the garments, utterly horrified. "I'd rather go naked than wear that in public."

"You _have_ gone naked in public," Harry muttered. "Okay, how about jeans, then, and a tee shirt that doesn't feature a crap team?"

"Fine," Draco grumbled.

As he waited in the school auditorium half an hour later, watching Dawn and Opie get acquainted with the other children, Draco realized that he had made a mistake. He had a policy of ignoring Harry's 'fashion' advice, and he should have followed it today. The short, curvy blonde woman who held out a perfectly manicured hand in greeting was dressed in a Chanel suit and high heels. Her big blue eyes looked Draco up and down, obviously finding what he was wearing to be lacking. "Oh my," she said in a Southern American accent, "I wouldn't have thought that a fashion model would dress so... casually. Hi, I'm Sophie McLaggan. That's my Elena in the blue dress."

Cormac McLaggan's wife. There were things that Draco was very good at, like dancing and sex. He was also very good at small group politics. He could tell at a glance if someone was an alpha or a beta. Draco knew what Sophie was at first sight: a queen bee. But Draco was married to _Harry Potter_. Without a doubt, he would be the top dog among the parents, which would put his children at the apex of the school's social hierarchy.

His rapid calculations were interrupted by a group of six women and one man coming down the aisle in a flying wedge formation. The woman leading them had a face that was well-known to the wizarding world: Veronica Wood, wife of Quidditch star Oliver Wood, former Queen of the Ravenclaws, and mainstay of the Daily _Prophet'_s society pages. Next to top-bitch Veronica, Sophie was just a little puppy. Draco had a sinking feeling in his stomach as violet eyes looked him up and down. "I suppose you don't need to dress well, now that you're not modeling any more."

"I still model," Draco said, drawing himself up to his full height and raising his chin. It was a move he had learned from his father.

"Really? What have you done lately?"

Draco opened his mouth, ready to mention the shoot he had done with a hot new young actor for _Interview_, but realized that it had been over six months ago.

"It's not much of a job for a man, now, is it, mincing around in silly clothing? But I suppose you couldn't have gotten yourself a decent job, what with dropping out of school," Veronica said with a shark's smile.

"I didn't drop out. There was a war," Draco said icily.

"And what side of the war were you on again, Malfoy? Oh, that's right, the Dark Lord's side." Veronica smirked as her gang feigned shock. "Really, I'm surprised that your children were admitted with your family background."

"Crash and burn," Draco heard Sophie murmur.

Veronica's attention was immediately riveted on the blond woman. "My, that's a very... youthful shade of pink you're wearing. I'm Veronica Wood. And you are...?" Sophie started to speak, but was interrupted by a titter. "Oh, you people from the American South talk so slow! I have to speak fast so I can keep up with my thoughts. I suppose if my mind worked slower, I would talk slower, too." Veronica looked over Sophie's shoulder. "Oh, I must go. There's my friend." Draco looked, but there was no one actually there.

After Veronica and company had left, Sophie smiled ruefully and shook her head. "We're toast," she said to Draco.

...

Posy was very good at looking worried. Her mud-brown eyes were wide and tearful as she twisted at the moth-eaten mink stole she had taken to wearing lately. "Master Draco has locked himself in the bathroom and will not come out," she squeaked.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

The house elf wailed a little. "Posy does not know!"

"Don't cry, Posy," Harry said, but he knew it was pointless. The little elf was with child, finally, and her hormones were going crazy. It made Harry quite glad that Draco wanted nothing to do with the male pregnancy magic that was being perfected by wizards in the United States. A pregnant, hormonal Draco... The very thought made Harry shudder.

When Harry rapped on the bathroom door, Draco didn't answer at first. "I won't stop knocking until you answer me. What's the problem?"

"I talked to my agency today," Draco said faintly, before lapsing back into silence.

"And?" Nothing. "And?" Harry started rapping on the door again.

"Nobody wants me. I'm too _old_."

"Well, that's normal for the modeling business, isn't it? You're just a year away from thirty. You had a good run, don't you think? Especially since you got started a bit late. Don't most models start when they're fetuses?"

"You think I'm old, too?"

"You're almost two whole months older than me. Merlin, you're positively ancient."

"It's not funny!"

"You can find some other line of work. You've got brains, even though you like to act like you don't sometimes. You could use them for the Ministry."

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is?"

Draco didn't reply. He opened the bathroom door and walked to the bedroom, where he spent at least an hour inspecting himself in the full-length mirror.

SEPTEMBER 8, 2009

"What are you doing?" Draco asked as he watched Harry stuff his pockets full of tissues.

"They're for when you cry."

"I'm not going to cry!"

"We'll see."

Today was officially the first day of school. Parents were invited for a light breakfast, and Harry took some time off work to accompany Draco. Today, Draco ignored all fashion advice from Harry and wore the outfit that he had planned on wearing the day before, complete with the jacket. The family Flooed to Wee Wizards (with Harry complaining that, what with the outrageous tuition being charged, the school ought to send a fancy horse and carriage around to pick up pupils), where they sat at a rickety card table and ate tiny servings of eggs and sausages in the cafeteria. "There _she _is," Draco said darkly when he spotted Veronica clacking around in her Christian Louboutins, holding a coffee pot.

Harry glanced at the petite woman with the retroussé nose and tastefully expensive jewelry. "Merlin's knickers, she's _terrifying_. She might, oh, I don't know, try to redecorate or something."

"She's coming this way. You'll see."

"You look nice today, Malfoy. One really needs to make more of an effort when one gets older," Veronica said as she flicked her eyes at Draco. "Oh, the famous Harry Potter. How nice to meet you. I think it's interesting that someone so famous decided to become something as ordinary as an Auror." As soon as she had slopped a miniscule amount of coffee in their cups, she sashayed away.

"She's really not the cuddly type, is she?" Harry said as he watched her ignore Sophie, who was holding out her empty coffee cup.

Draco was fuming. "She's_ unspeakable_. Yesterday, when we were decorating the pre-school room, she went on and on about how Dawn doesn't look a thing like me and implied that her birth-mother was fooling around. She brought up my old... relationship with Greg. And she said something about _Mother_."

"Goodness, no!" Harry said in mock horror.

"Oh, yes, she did! She said that my mother's charity balls are not in good taste."

"Obviously, she deserves the rack and thumbscrews."

"It's not funny!"

"Yes, it is. Honestly, it's not the end of the world if that harpie doesn't like you. She's just bitter because her husband spends all his free time chasing nineteen-year-olds."

"I don't care if she likes me or not! I just want to be popular. So our children can be popular."

"Do you really think it matters that much?"

Draco jutted his chin out stubbornly. "Yes."

When breakfast was over, the parents were allowed to go into their children's classes to say goodbye. When Draco and Harry left Opie's classroom, Draco started blinking and sniffling. Harry held out a tissue.

"I'm not crying! I'm just having allergies."

"To what? Fingerpaints?"

Instead of heading for the fireplace, Draco went to the front exit, which opened onto Diagon Alley. As they walked down the street, Harry took his husband's hand. "Veronica never gave us a proper refill. Want to stop for coffee?"

The Witch's Brew was one of the newer businesses on Diagon Alley, and was shabbily cozy inside, with sagging couches surrounding battered coffee tables. The barista, a boy who looked fresh out of Hogwarts, was flipping through a copy of the _Quibbler_. "Can I help you?" he said in a bored voice, not looking at them.

"We'll take two pumpkin lattes," Harry said.

The barista grunted and set the paper down reluctantly. He moved at a snail's pace until he happened to glance up at Harry and spot the scar. "You're Harry Potter!" he exclaimed, setting the half-full cup down.

"Yes, I am. Ah, are you going to finish wi-"

"Wow, you're even better-looking than your pictures." The boy was positively radiant with youth, his skin smooth and taut and perfect, and his hazel eyes bright.

Draco was outraged when the boy openly looked Harry up and down. What sort of trollop cruised a man right in front of his husband? "Yes, well, he's also _married_."

The boy blinked at Draco. "You used to be a model or something, didn't you?"

"Come on, we're leaving," Draco huffed as he grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him toward the door.

SEPTEMBER 10, 2009

Harry pulled off his jacket as he stepped out of the kitchen fireplace. Draco was rummaging around in a cupboard; Harry came up behind him and wrapped his arms around him. "Hey, beautiful." Draco shut the cupboard and turned in Harry's arms, smiling. Harry sprang backwards. "_What the_-er, are you all right?"

Draco's face was strangely red and shiny. "I'm fine. I modified an old family cure for spots, made it a little stronger."

"You haven't had spots since you were fifteen."

"It's not for acne. It's like a Muggle chemical peel. The top layer of skin is removed, and the skin underneath is much younger-looking."

"But it looks like a baboon's arse."

"_You're_ a baboon's arse. The red goes away."

"Merlin, I hope so. Doesn't it hurt?"

"Like a bad sunburn. But one has to suffer to be beautiful. I think Shakespeare said that." Harry looked dubious. "Ummm... Harry? Umm..." Draco twisted his hands together.

Harry frowned slightly. Draco was usually never at a loss for words. "Spit it out."

"I want another baby."

Harry thought a moment. "You do, or your mother does?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" A hint of frost in the air.

"I thought it was a simple question. I know your mother wants millions of grandbabies. Do you really want another child, or would you just be doing it for her?"

Draco's nostrils flared and his eyes went icy. "My mother had five babies die before she had me. She was told that carrying me could kill her, and it nearly did. That's how much she wanted children, and you would begrudge her more grandchildren?"

"So I take it you've already made up your mind, then?"

"I don't like the tone you're using. Is there something wrong with wanting children? If you didn't want the first two, you should have said so." Draco turned his back on Harry and stomped away.

Rendered momentarily speechless, Harry finally said, "How could you ever think that I didn't want Dawn and Opie?" But Draco had already gone into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. It looked like Harry wasn't going to get to sleep in his own bed tonight, which would give him plenty of alone-time to try to figure out what the hell had just happened.

SEPTEMBER 11. 2009

The next morning, Harry came down to the kitchen and found Draco scrambling eggs. Thankfully, his cooking skills had improved over the years. Harry walked up behind him and slid his hands around the slim waist, tucking one into the front of Draco's silk robe and nipping at an earlobe. "Watch it! You'll make me burn something," the blond protested, but he pressed his rear end against Harry's pelvis.

"Ahem." The nanny stood in the doorway with her two charges.

Reluctantly, Harry pulled away from his husband. "Good morning, Marlena." He took Opie, who was still as torpid as a sloth, from her arms and kissed his forehead. "Morning, jelly bean." Harry could feel Draco's eyes on him, and knew exactly what was going through his mind.

...

The man's name was Mick Cranston, and he was the life partner of of some high-ranking Ministry muckety-muck. He was a member of Veronica's gang, but Draco thought he had figured out an angle. It was the school's weekly Mummy Meeting, and after tea Draco approached Mick while the man was gathering up dirty plates and cups. Hooking a thumb at a group of women cackling about their husbands' foibles, he said, "The estrogen gets awfully thick around here sometimes."

Mick sniffed and looked down his long nose at Draco. "That's sexist."

"Oh, come on, you must get tired of all the relentless womanliness of this place, too. We two blokes, we ought to stick together, don't you think?"

"If you think we're going to be friends, you're wrong. My brother was killed by Death-Eaters. I don't like your sort." He gave Draco a nasty look. "And there's something wrong with your face."

As Mick walked away with a tray full of dishes, Draco called out, "It's only temporary!" But he knew a lost cause when he saw one.

"So, it's decided then," he heard Veronica say to her minions.

"What's decided?" he asked. "Did I miss something?"

"Oh, Malfoy, you're so _blond_," Veronica replied so airily.

SEPTEMBER 21, 2009

"Dammit, Draco, you know you get Posy all upset when you do this. Come on out." Harry tapped at the locked bathroom door. "What happened today?"

There was a long silence. Finally, Draco said, "I went to my agency to show them how I look. I mean, I could pass for twenty again, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

"They didn't care. They said that people don't want _my _face, younger, they just want _new _faces. I'm _boring_."

"Well, so you find something else to do with your life. Like I keep telling you, you're brilliant. Your OWLs-"

"But what if I'm just not that intelligent any more? I don't think I am. I'm not sure I ever was, really, in the first place."

Harry hit his head on the door in frustration. "Son of a- ten years you've been away from Robert, and the bastard is _still_ in your head." Draco made a scoffing sound. "Be honest. Did you ever doubt your intelligence before you were with him? You were pretty damned sure of your cleverness in school. It was tremendously annoying, really."

"I talked to my father today."

Uh oh. What fresh hell was this? "And?"

"He found a surrogate mother for me. She's working on a Master's in International Human Rights Law at Oxford. She's brilliant. And look." A photograph was slid under the bathroom door. "Our baby would be beautiful."

Harry picked the picture up. A dark-skinned woman with an exquisite oval face shifted uncomfortably. Her enormous eyes were lovely but sad. "Why does she need to be a surrogate mother?"

"Oh, there's a war- a Muggle war- going on wherever she's from. She needs to get her family out of there."

"Draco..." What he had to say was not going to go over well. At all. Harry braced himself. "This doesn't seem... exploitative to you? Taking advantage of the misery of these women? I didn't say anything the first two times because I knew your father would get his heir one way or another, but I just can't... not speak up now."

Silence again. It somehow felt chillier.

"I mean... do you think these women _enjoy_ carrying a baby for nine months, giving birth to it, and then never seeing it again?"

The bathroom door flew open, the knob slamming into the wall hard enough to crack plaster. Draco ran past Harry, too swift to be caught, and headed for the kitchen stairs. Harry rubbed his face hard and sighed. No doubt he was going to his mother for sympathy.

OCTOBER 14, 2009

"Is Draco still spending most of his time at his parents? It seems like I hardly see him any more," Hermione said.

Ron poked his head out of the kitchen. "I'll bet his father is hearing about all sorts of things."

"_Ron_."

"I'm starting to think that the only reason he's still with me is that he won't leave without Opie and Dawn, and he also doesn't want to separate them from me. I don't know what's going on." Harry was slumped at Hermione's dining room table, staring into a coffee cup. The past couple of weeks at 12 Grimmauld Place had been frosty. "Just a month ago, we couldn't have been happier, and now we're utterly miserable."

"Quarter-life crises," Hermione said. "Well, he's a wizard, so it's more like a one-eighth-life crises."

Harry looked up, eyes wide. "We barely say ten words to each other a day. I try to touch him and he flinches. I'm afraid I'm losing him."

"Are you joking? Draco would never leave you. All couples go through hard times. Ron and I, well, I've told you all about it. Try to think about it from his point of view. How would you feel if you couldn't be an Auror any more?"

"But he could be so much more than a bloody _model_!"

"Harry, I know that you _think_ you understand how damaged he's been by his past, but I don't think you fully grasp it. When you got married and had your happily-ever-after, it didn't magically erase all of that. He's used to dealing with his self-confidence issues by using his looks. The thought of becoming less physically attractive must be terrifying for him."

"But the baby thing?"

Hermione laughed. "He's a lot like his mother."

"I'm starting to think he should have been born female so he could just pop babies out by the dozens."

"Well, it's not unheard of for people who had unhappy childhoods to compensate that way. But I do agree with you, Harry. Surrogacy bothers me. It_ is _exploitative. As a mother, I can't imagine..." Hermione looked thoughtful. "You heard about what they're doing in the US, right? Wizards can have-"

"Merlin, no! Pregnant Draco? _No_. And how do they even- NO."

Ron poked his head back out. "Remember how 'Mione got when she was preggers? You sure as hell don't want to go through that with _Draco_." He vanished before Hermione could throw anything at him.

Harry tried to laughed, but could only managed a wobbly smile. "So, what do you think I should do if letting him have another baby is the only way I can keep him?"

"Do you really think it will come to that?"

"I don't know. I keep thinking that there's more going on that he's not telling me."

OCTOBER 15, 2009

Harry was sitting at the kitchen table filling out some paperwork for his job when Draco returned from the latest Wee Wizards Mummy Meeting. Draco was seethingly angry, but it wasn't Harry he was upset with, thank Merlin. He was so irate, he forgot that he was barely talking to his husband. "Veronica has gone too far!"

"I hear Oliver has a new bit of crumpet, so of course she has to get nasty. Now what?"

"She told everyone that I used to be a stripper!"

"Well, you _were_."

"That doesn't mean I want everyone to know about it!"

"You're embarrassed about it now? Back then, you were all, like-" Harry got out of his chair and stuck his arse out, shaking it. "I'm Draco, look at my pretty bottom!" he said in falsetto. "Put some money in my pants!"

"Oh, shut up!" Draco laughed for the first time in two weeks.

"Let me give you a lap dance!" Harry pushed Draco down on a chair and straddled him, bouncing on his lap.

"You're crap at that!"

Harry wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Give me a lesson, then."

"I'll give you something all right," Draco growled, pulling Harry to him. He nipped at his lips, and then, in a reversal of how things usually went with them, sexy playfulness turned tender. Draco buried his face in Harry's neck and hugged him almost painfully hard. "Don't leave me," he said, his voice muffled.

Harry jerked his head in surprise. "What? Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm stupid and annoying and selfish and I've been horrible to you lately and I'm a _mess_."

"I thought _you_ were going to leave _me_." Harry stroked the tender spot at the nape of Draco's neck, under his shoulder-length hair, enjoying the way his husband wriggled into the touch. "What's going on, babe?"

"Mother is sick."

"Oh."

"She's tired all the time. Today, she didn't even get out of bed. She goes to St. Mungo's, but she won't tell us what's wrong. Why wouldn't she tell us, unless it's something really bad?"

"I... don't even know what to say."

"What am I going to do without her? What will _Father_ do?"

"Oh, I'm sure Lucius will be fine. He doesn't seem to need anyone."

Draco pushed Harry back a little so he could look him in the eye. "You think that what you see is all there is to him?"

Harry sighed. "Draco, we've been married the better part of a decade, and I still can't say I know the man. He's an elf-kicking enigma to me."

"If Mother... goes, we'll have to move in with him."

"_What?" _Harry fell backwards off of Draco's lap, landing painfully on his rump.

"He can't be all by himself in the Manor. He'll be so lonely."

"Ten years ago, you didn't want to be anywhere near the Manor."

"Yes, well, I've grown up." The way Draco lifted his chin defiantly would have made Harry laugh if he wasn't still utterly horrified by the thought of living with Lucius.

Harry got up slowly, grimacing. He'd done a number on his tailbone. "Um, don't take this the wrong way, but does your mum being sick have anything to do with you wanting another baby?" Oh, son of a... He _should not _have asked that.

Draco huffed and got up off the chair, heading for the fireplace. Harry's heart sank. _Not again_. "I'll be back after nine," Draco called just as the green flames whooshed up. Harry smiled in relief. Draco was still talking to him, at least.

OCTOBER 16, 2009

He was just about to bring Dawn and Opie home when he heard it: "So, what are you going to bring to the bake sale?"

Draco turned and looked at Veronica, who was talking to one of her minions, a beige woman with a name too bland to remember. "I'm going to make a red velvet cake," replied Beige.

"Bake sale?" Draco demanded. "What bake sale?"

" 'What's a bake sale'?" Veronica tittered back at him.

"I know what a damned bake sale is!" It was a Muggle fund-raising tactic that certain witches had adopted. It was a way to demonstrate that, because they were married to wealthy wizards, they had the leisure time to master the art of baking. His mother had been an avid participant before she had... started to decline. But it wasn't about plain, homely pies and biscuits, oh, no; not like anything Molly Weasley made. Rich Pure-Blood witches competed to build the most decorative, complex confections, with the most expensive ingredients. When his mother had made red velvet cake, she had somehow made the frosting look like red, pink and white rose petals. Draco was sure he had gained three pounds from one slice. "When was it decided that the school is having a bake sale?"

"It's not my fault if you're not paying attention. Do you even know how to bake?" The tone of Veronica's voice said that she doubted he was able to tie his shoes by himself. "You could just have your house-elf make something."

Of _course_, he didn't know how to bake. "I can learn," he snapped.

"In one week? The bake sale is next Thursday." She got the twinkly look she always got when she was about to say something especially nasty. "No one expects very much from _you_, Malfoy." Head high, she tip-tapped away on her ridiculous shoes.

Draco's heart sped up, hammering against his sternum, and he broke out in a sweat. He dashed out to the street and found an alley to duck into while he breathed in, out, in, out... Another bloody panic attack. He hadn't had one for years and years, and now he seemed to have one at least once a week. It was _Veronica_.

Somehow, she had divined Draco's weakness; every little jab about dumb blonds, each insinuation that he had gone into modeling because he didn't have the brains for any career that involved intelligence, every condescending pat on the head... Draco had thought that he was long over his twisted, suicidal relationship with Robert, but Veronica had a way of putting him right back into those old feelings of inferiority. Robert was a man of immense, quicksilver intelligence, and he had used it to undermine Draco's self-confidence to the point where he had started doubting that he knew how to do anything at all besides offer up his body. Veronica did the same thing, then implied that he was losing his looks. It gave him flashbacks, which gave him panic attacks, and he had to take it because of his children.

The logical part of Draco's mind knew that she was just lashing out because of her feelings of inadequacy from be married to a philanderer. But it was hard to hold on to that when the flashbacks and the panic came. Draco squatted with his back against a stone wall and put his face between his knees, willing himself to calm down _fast_. Opie and Dawn were still at school, and he wouldn't let them see him upset. _I'm in a bloody field of fucking daisies. The sun is shining. The birds are singing. Veronica is trussed up like a roasting pig and begging for mercy_.

Draco unfolded slowly, standing back up, and walked back into the school. "Dawn, Opie, time to go home."

As they headed for the fireplace, Draco heard, "I thought you'd forgot them." His mouth flattened in a grim line as he forced himself not to acknowledge it. _I will not let her get to me again. I will smile when I get home_. He would not let Harry know how bad things really were.

...

"What do you want, Draco?"

"Is Hermione there?"

Ron grunted. "This isn't going to be one of those conversations that ends with Hermione swearing and throwing the phone across the room, is it? My mom has the kids tonight, and I was hoping to get some action, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, yeah. Harry and I got some action last night. We were in bed and he was on top and-"

" '_Mione_! It's _him_!"

There was a brief pause. "What is it, Draco? I'm in the middle of making dinner."

"You know how to bake, right?"

"Ah, no, actually. I don't have time."

"But you're _female_. You have to know. Don't you just automatically know how once you grow tits?"

"I'm going to hang-"

"I need you to teach me."

"But your moth-"

"She can't. Please, Hermie"

"Don't call me Hermie. And, honestly, since you were always good at potions, baking ought to be child's play for you. Buy a book or something."

"What book?"

"I don't know! Go to a bookstore! Oh, blast, dinner's burning. For Merlin's sake, Ron, can't you- I'm hanging up, Draco."

"I love you, Hermie."

"I love you, too. Now go away." _Click_.

Draco stared at the phone in his hand for a while before placing it back on the hook. His mother was sick. Millicent was too busy opening up a small hotel with her wife. Pansy's idea of baking was eating pre-made frosting straight out of the container with her fingers. Molly was busy with two new grandbabies, and Ginny was in South Africa playing Quidditch. It looked like Draco was going to have to have Kreacher bake a cake for him. _Useless_, Robert said, scorn in his icy blue eyes. _Useless_, Veronica giggled.

OCTOBER 17, 2009

_Draco stared into the Thames. It was a windy night, full of gusts from random directions, and the surface of the river rippled. The lights of the city reflected on it pointillistically. He imagined tossing his wand as hard as he could, watching it go end over end until it landed in the middle of the river. He imagined filling his pockets with stones, climbing the fence, and jumping in the water. Only the first was possible, as his father had put that spell on him that made him unable to commit suicide. It would be an unpleasant way to go, anyway. The river was probably filthy._

_His hair was tangled and none too clean; he had been living rough for the past couple of weeks, since the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. Every so often, the Ministry tracked him down just to let him know that they could find him. There were trials and tribunals and interrogations and so much blah-blah-blah. Draco was pretty sure he wasn't going to Azkaban. Potter was taking his side for Merlin knew what reason, and, right now, Potter could demand daily virgin sacrifices if he wanted to. _

_Draco wondered if Potter fancied him, if that was the reason he had convinced the Ministry that they didn't need to keep Draco in custody while all the poking and prodding went on. He let himself daydream a little, about catching Potter alone somewhere and offering himself up. Potter would never, could never love Draco the way Draco loved him, had loved him in pained hopelessness for years, but a good, bone-rattling shag... _You don't deserve it. You don't deserve him,_ said the voice in Draco's head._

_"You're not going to jump in, are you?" The voice was sardonic and a bit condescending. Draco turned and saw an extraordinarily handsome dark-haired man who must have been about the same age as his father. His square jaw was complemented by his neatly trimmed goatee, and his pale eyes were surrounded by ridiculously lush eye-lashes. He gave Draco an up-and-down appraisal. "Have you even eaten today?"_

_He hadn't. He didn't eat much at all, really. It had been months, perhaps even years, since he had actually had an appetite. It made his mother fret endlessly. But when the well-dressed stranger offered to take him to dinner, he accepted. He got into the man's slate-blue Jaguar, knowing that those well-manicured hands could wrap about his thin neck and squeeze the life out of him. It was what he was hoping for. Oblivion. Draco had run away from home so he could destroy himself. Or, rather, find someone to destroy him, to do what he could not. _

_They were stopped at a traffic light. "What kind of food do you prefer?" the man asked. He turned his head to look at Draco, and his face was a grinning skull._

_"I love you," Draco said._

Draco sat up in bed, willing his heart to slow down. Bloody hell. Dreams were supposed to be silly, random things that evanesced away as soon as one opened one's eyes. This dream was, until the very end, a perfect recreation of the night that he had met Robert, complete with the emotions, and he had been having it nearly every night lately. It took a few minutes to shake off the feeling of emptiness that the dream left.

"Daddy! Father! Wake up! You said you'd take us to the park today!" Two small bodies hurtled onto the bed. Opie climbed on Harry's chest to rouse him from sleep, while Dawn impatiently pulled the covers off of Draco. A grin spread across Draco's face. At times like this, the Draco that had climbed into that slate-blue Jaguar was a stranger, someone he couldn't have possibly ever been.

...

Harry leaned out the front door to pick up the morning paper, giving the neighbors an eyeful of him in his boxers. He unfolded it as he padded to the kitchen and his eyes widened. "Draco! You've got to see this." He tossed the paper at his husband, who was cutting up Opie's sausage.

Putting the knife down, Draco picked up the paper. He seemed to stop breathing when he saw the photo and the screaming headline. He put a hand over his mouth as he read the article, and he made an odd sound.

"Draco? Is something wrong?"

Draco lowered his hand from his face. He was pale, but smiling. "No. I think I'm good."

Harry took the paper back. 'Financial Wizard Arrested for Biggest Ponzi Scheme in History!' said the headline, just above a picture of an infuriated Robert lunging toward the photographer. "The bastard was always blathering to the media about how bloody brilliant he is, but he got caught running a scam like a common criminal. Not so smart after all, I guess."

Draco was very quiet as he helped Opie eat and finished his own breakfast, but Harry could tell by the enthusiastic way that he was eating that it was a good silence; Draco's appetite tended to shut down when he was upset or feeling down. Harry watched his husband wipe their son's face clean and cajole Dawn into eating the rest of her eggs. Now that pottie training was done, Saturdays were no-nanny days. Harry had to admit that watching Draco with Dawn and Opie made him feel warm and squishy inside, and just a little sad about not having another baby.

"Let's get dressed so we can go to the park." Draco hustled the kids out of the kitchen and up the stairs, leaving Harry by himself. Harry downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp and hurried after them, not wanting to be left behind.

As they sat together on a bench with peeling paint, watching Dawn swing Opie, Harry noticed that Draco still wasn't very talkative. He inched his hand over and laid it on Draco's. Draco turned and gave him the lovely, heart-stopping smile that had made Harry fall in love. Somehow, Harry knew that everything was going to be alright.

OCTOBER 18, 2009

Harry was lounging in front of the television on Sunday morning when a blast from the lower floor of the house nearly knocked him from the couch. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded as he bounded into the kitchen.

Opie, who was on the floor floor with a bowl of frosting (half of which he was wearing), wailed. The oven door was half off its hinges, and the kitchen was coated in cake batter. Kreacher was wiping his eyes off. "Master Draco has ruined Kreacher's pillow case!" the elf whined.

Draco looked sheepish. "Well, you know how potions brew faster when you add powdered dragon scales?"

"You're... baking?" Harry noticed a two-foot-tall stack of cookbooks on the counter, with titles like 'The Big Book of Cupcakes.' So that was where Draco had gone the previous afternoon: the bookstore. "And you used _dragon scales_?"

"Hermione said that baking is a lot like potions."

"You might have taken that a little too literally. But I guess you don't know until you try." Harry repaired the over door- he used a more sophisticated version of the spell he'd learned from Hermione all those years ago to repair his glasses. "So how long before I can eat cake?"

Draco slapped a mixing bowl in Harry's hands. "Shut up and stir."

OCTOBER 22, 2009

"You actually baked that yourself? How nice you tried." Veronica took the cake from Draco and started tippy-tapping toward the kitchen.

"I thought the bake sale was out here in the cafeteria," he said.

"Oh, it is," Veronica tossed back over her shoulder. "But a photographer from the _Prophet_ is coming, and I think we should have only the very best creations representing our school."

Draco fumed as he followed behind Veronica. Sure, it was no volcano with chocolate lava. It wasn't a dragon that shot sparks from its mouth. It didn't have marzipan butterflies or fondant flowers. But it was a_ perfectly respectable _carrot cake. Draco found out he was very good at making tasty carrot cake. He was sure that Harry had already gained ten pounds, he was so good.

"Oh, Sophie, should you really be eating that? Women with your sort of figure do tend to run to fat." Sophie merely glared and took another bite of something delicious-looking that dripped honey and butter. As soon as Veronica was gone, Sophie shoved the plate at Draco. "The dragon-lady says to me, 'Oh, I should have specified _English_ biscuits, not American!' The lying snake. I told her all about my grandma's special buttermilk biscuit recipe."

Draco bit into a biscuit, and it was a fluffy bit of heaven. "Let's stay in here. We can eat my cake next." For the next twenty minutes they made up horrible ways for Veronica to die. Stabbed to death by her own shoes. Poison in her Guerlain lipstick. Troll herpes in her Botox were interrupted by Dawn dragging a sobbing Opie into the room. "What's wrong, jelly bean?" Draco asked Opie, but the boy was crying too hard to speak.

"Janice said something mean," Dawn explained.

Oh, Merlin. Janice Wood was a tiny copy of her mother, complete with the attitude. "What was it?"

"She said no one should play with us because her mum says you're bad. She says if you're bad, we're bad, too." Dawn gave her father a searching look with her round green eyes. "But you're not bad."

A red haze formed at the edges of Draco's vision. Veronica had gone _too far_. Not the children. Not _his _children. Draco got out of his chair and marched to the kitchen door, cracking it open enough to stick his head out. "Oh, Veronica, you're needed in the kitchen."

Veronica looked annoyed at being interrupted in her conversation with a man holding a camera. "I'm busy, Malfoy." Her voice was tight. She really hated when he called her by her first name.

"It's a bit of an emergency. If we can't stop it, we might have to cancel the bake sale." That got her attention; she looked grim, not even noticing that the photographer was following her. Draco went back to the table and prepared.

OCTOBER 23, 2009

Harry couldn't stop staring at the photograph on the front page of the _Prophet_. He couldn't stop laughing, either. Over and over again, Draco hit Veronica Wood in the face with his carrot cake. 'Malfoy Gone Mad?' asked the headline. Draco looked so utterly gleeful, while the expression on Veronica's face when she realized what was happening- Harry was going to buy a copy of it from the paper and have it framed. "Our children can no longer attend Wee Wizards now, you know."

Draco, who was finishing up his eggs, shrugged. "I'll see if there are vacancies at Magical Mites."

"One a scale of one to ten, how much did you enjoy that?"

Draco smiled like a cat. "At least a hundred." He looked tired, but happy; he had been up all night after he had come back from his parents'. He had been in the office, shuffling papers, writing in his journal, and staring at the walls.

"What do your parents think? They must be scandalized." Harry knew that mashing a cake into a woman's face was not proper Malfoy behavior.

Draco laughed. "They hardly care at the moment. Mother finally revealed what her... problem was last night." Draco puffed out his cheeks and looked at Harry. "Can you guess?"

"Not a clue."

"She was undergoing a complete complex rejuvenation procedure. She was too embarrassed to tell us." Draco stabbed at his eggs as a line formed between his eyebrows. "I can't believe she would worry Father and me over simple vanity."

"Imagine someone doing that," Harry said dryly.

"Anyway, it just made it even more clear where my true calling lies."

Harry looked up, startled. He shouldn't have been surprised, really. Draco tended to keep his thoughts to himself until he made a decision. What seemed abrupt was actually gradual. Harry just wished that his husband would let him share in his burden of worries. "What are you going to do?"

"I want to produce a line of beauty and rejuvenating products, like the facial peel potion I made. Look, I'm still the very image of my twenty-year-old self." Draco leaned forward and turned his head every which way so Harry could admire his flawless face. "I'll come up with potions and procedures that won't make a person feel like they've got the hippogriff flu. Or frighten their families into thinking that they might be d... very sick."

Harry did his best to not smile. This was just so _Draco_. This moment was a distillation of pure _Draco-ness_.

Draco gave him a suspicious look. "What? Is something funny."

"Merlin's balls, I love you."

"_Merlin's balls_? You're such a romantic, Harry. Oh, and I'm going to give money to that woman, the one that needs to get her family out of Wherever-stan."

Harry was quiet for a minute, his happy mood tarnished. "So we're buying another baby?"

"Mm, no. I just did it because it seemed like the decent thing to do. I talked to Mother and she said that if she'd had to give me up, it would have killed her. She says I just can't understand unless I have a child myself and- eeep! What are you doing?"

Harry had Draco out of his chair and up on the table. "Nanny's gone with the children. How about it?" The table groaned a little as Harry eased his weight onto it, but they knew it would hold.

Draco bit his lip as Harry tugged his pajama bottoms off, and sighed happily as Harry kissed and licked his way down his stomach. Plates crashed to the floor unheeded as the table started to bounce. It hitched across the floor, bumping up against a counter. In a relationship with Draco, there would always be rough spots, but, oh, were they ever more than made up for by moments like this. Harry refused to stop until his husband was trembling and shouting.

Blinking up at Harry with heavy-lidded eyes, Draco smiled in complete satiation. "I have slivers in my arse, but it was completely worth it." He raised his head and nipped Harry's upper lip. "I have to go get dressed, though. Mother wants to go clothes shopping, now that she's got great legs again."

Harry reluctantly let Draco up; he could easily have gone another round. He finished his breakfast, then wandered to the room that he and Draco used as an office, intending to get some paperwork done. He was distracted by an envelope sticking out from under the debris that covered Draco's desk. What would he have got from the United States? Feeling like a sneak, but unable to curb his curiosity, Harry gently slid the manila envelope out without disturbing anything else. The return address label didn't give anything away. Inside, Harry found a flier with pictures of happy man/man couples with babies, and a letter:

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_The Families For All Institute is pleased at your interest in our program. In the enclosed flier, you will find details about how we have combined cutting edge Muggle medicine with advanced magic to make it possible for male couples to have their very own bundles of joy. We are willing to waive all fees, as we feel that having Harry Potter participate in our program will be the best possible advertising that we could ever hope for. We look forward to your visit._

Harry was out of the room before before the letter hit the floor. "_DRAAAAAAAAAAAACOOOOOOOOOO!_"


End file.
